Reckoning
by Anime Borat
Summary: Tanabe Shinonono had treated the events surrounding the Infinite Stratos as a game, never caring about the consequences of her actions. Yet the tides of fate will ensure to return the debris she had left behind. Constantly updating chapters with new bits.
1. Chapter 1

**Reckoning**

A/N: This fic was inspired by the works of Garth Ennis, particularly _Fury: Peacemaker_ , _Fury: My War Gone By_ , _The Shadow: Fire of Creation_ , _War Stories_ , and _Unknown Soldier_ by Joshua Dysart. It also occurred that no one has explored the effects of the Infinite Stratos system around the world beyond the gender disparity. We'll get to the that. I'll say that I have never watched or read Infinite Stratos although I lurked the wiki some. It was originally a one-shot but it seemed to go to long for me so I'll release this in chapters. It may not be to your taste so I advise to read it with an open mind.

* * *

 _Phantom Task primary bunker complex_  
 _Itissaalik, Greenland_  
 _Third day of siege, 2345 Hours_

United Nations' Operation Hardholme was going well. American, British, Canadian, French, and Russian forces had invaded Iceland to lay siege on Phantom Task's northern base, part of a synchronized attack against the terrorist group's havens and strike bases around the world. This was the fruit of extensive planning behind a shroud of secrecy thick as pea soup and it paid off well... initially. This operation also drew out of hiding previously unknown bases and cells of Phantom Task and its allies, causing a melee of shifting, destructive battles across the world. Casualties on both side have mounted in the millions, regions in the reduced into war zones that rivaled those of the Second World War in intensity. U.N, Phantom Task and co-belligerent regimes and organizations, and of course, the civilian caught in the middle. The Infinite Stratos mechas of every country who had them had joined the fight, to face their opposing numbers from the enemy.

In the midst of the rubble inside the subterranean hideout of Phantom Task beneath the frozen wastes of Greenland, two people have rendezvous with destiny, the culmination of the disastrous effects created by the introduction of the I.S. One of them intercepted the other, emerging from the darkness.

"This is quite an odd time to meet," said the man, a tall husky Congolese dressed in black cargo pants and sweater, a scarlet beret on his head. The pistol he held was pointed squarely at a woman who wouldn't look out of place from Tokyo's Akihabara district. She is Tabane Shinonono, the genius who created the Infinite Stratos weapon system and the woman who brought the world at a new cold war.

The woman hopped joyfully, like a child. She had that saccharine cute smile with a cuddly face framed by long pink hair. Her head was adorned with mechanical bunny ears. Her eyes bulged with life and curiosity.

"Who might you be?" she asked in her cute voice. The voice had roused anger and hate inside the accuser's heart for so long. Yet each one was always new.

"Call me Temedu," he replied with more calm than he actually felt, the pistol still level in his hands. "It is an honor to see you, Doctor."

"Oh really?" The voice echoed loudly in the humongous, cathedral-like chamber. The rubble of ice and concrete, the fallen twisted still beams, the uneven and unstable-lighting all lend Wagnerian grandeur to their conversation. The rocking of the scene with the battle above ground and bunker busters piercing the surface gave the background score.

"Not exactly." The man's face turned to a subdued frown. "We need to talk about something."

"You just wanted to talk to me? Oh how sweet. It seems so sudden but I don't you need to point that gun at me." At the mention of _gun_ , her voice took a temperature drop. The man remained unmoved though was surprised to her this from. She seemed so sweet, nonchalant, and abrasive.

"Well, old habits. It's not everyday that a lowly foot-soldier of Phantom Task gets to meet a celebrity."

"Oh, thank you~." She made a cutesy bow, her cheerful voice returned. "What do you wanting to talk about, Temedu-kun?"

He face to the I.S. _Black Knight_ , Madoka's Orimura's smoking, headless corpse sitting in the shattered cockpit. It had fallen from a huge hole on the ceiling created from several bunker busters exploding in the ice beneath her. "Alas, poor Madoka. Finest I.S. pilot Phantom Task has ever known. She should have been careful about taking on the newly-upgraded _Byakushiki_ and _Silver Gospel_ , the latter doing away with the AI system and sticking a pilot instead."

She shrugged her shoulders like it was a simple prank. "I didn't expect the Americans to learn that fast. Look's like they got over the _Silver Gospel_ screwing everything at the academy."

"And they approved hundreds of millions of dollars to overhaul _Silver Gospel_ and created new protocols that governed deployment of the I.S. That's a lot of money."

"Oh, I see. Does Temedu-kun want some pocket change?" she inquired. "It might be a little difficult to..."

"I have no interest in 'pocket change,'" Temedu replied. "I just noticed it always boiled down to money... riches."

"I don't understand." She stroked her chin as she pondered the thought.

He wondered if she did that to irritate him. Japanese, it seemed, have a habit of making such "cute" gestures. He sighed, a bit dramatically for his taste. "An Infinite Stratos unit cost billions to build and maintain. And this technology is far advanced than anything before it, a leap by several generations." He lowered the gun and sat on a block of concrete, seemingly deflated. "My apologies for pointing a weapon at you."

"That's okay~."

"All that money, all that technology..." His voice became heavy, of a man who has seen all that is wrong with the world. "They could have improves lives... Medicine, farming, engineering, even take us the stars. Instead, all of it has gone into this." He gestured to _Black Knight_. "An arms race in the form of a jousting match between robots that could wipe out the planet twenty times over."

She tilted her head a bit with a frown. "Oh, what's wrong, Temedu-kun? The I.S. matches are lotsa fun to watch."

He scoffed. "If only you can afford it. Governments, defense contractors, the whole lot, watching. Seeing the advancements of the Infinite Stratos systems so they can get to work on how to one-up the other countries'. All in all, the rest of the world has to shoulder the expenses so girls in powered suits of armor can battle each other. " He breathed heavily. "To do that, legislatures approved increased funding for these weapons, taxes raised and redirected to the defense contractors and money flows freely from there - up to the end of the line."

"What's the end of the line?" she mewed curiously.

"Congo, Angola, Indonesia, southern China, Kazakhstan, and other places you or anyone in Japan or the rest of the first world never heard or even cared about."

"I hear some of those places but I don't get what you mean." Her "ears" flicked again.

"To build an Infinite Stratos, raw material has to be obtained and to get that, all eyes turned to the regions beyond: in third-world countries and the wild, backwater regions of developed nations. In what you call 'shitholes' lie what you needed."

* * *

A/N: This is my first, and probably only Infinite Stratos fanfiction. Time for the references. Hardhome is a reference to a settlement featured in _A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones_ series. It was a Free Folk fishing village north of the Wall that played two pivotal moments in ASOIAF universe: the burning of Hardhome and the massacre of Hardhome featured in _Game of Thrones_. Temedu is a Yoruban named used an equivalent of John Doe in Nigeria.


	2. Heart of Darkness

**Heart of Darkness**

A/N: If you managed to read the intro then, I supposed that deserve a second chapter is order. By the way, I suggest that you give a look-over of the works that inspired my work here. They are top-notched stuff about war, human drama, political and social commentary. I will apologize for any rantings my writing has devolved to. Old habits die hard. I can use corrections on reviews or PM.

* * *

He can remembers the fires, the screams, the stuttering chatter of Kalashnikovs as the rebels proceed with their bloody work. He is on the ground as he watches them slaughter women and children, having taken a buttstock to the stomach followed by beatings of the fiends. The smell of smoke and burning flesh assails his nostrils.

 _Oh God! My God!_ This can't be happening! he desperately pleads as he and several men are made to watch. The bastards are laughing!

Anyone not downed by a streaming of bullets received death with a machete - or worse. The screams, the screams, keeps howling his ears. He was on the verge of tears as he watched his beloved home end in a holocaust of fire and murder. He can clearly hear the taunts of his tormentors.

 _War has been endemic in my home. Yet, I was not unduly worried. My home seemed so far away from the conflict. I returned home from Switzerland to visit my parents and celebrate my graduation as an electrical engineer. Generations had come and gone in my home but I was the first son to study and graduate abroad. I was going to be part of an initiative that help Africans everywhere rise up from poverty at the grassroots._

 _So sweet, yet so sad_ , Tabane agreed, her tone taking a sorrowful low.

 _The attack happened because I- No... We were at the wrong place at the wrong time. All because of an army patrol had clashed with with some of the bandits as they smuggled drugs, elephant ivory, and leopard skins nearby. All because of my naive hope that the peace negotiations would hold. What should have been the happiest moment in my life had turned to a nightmare. And it didn't end there for me..._

He and several survivors were marched by the rebels to work in the mines. The boys where being taken to trained as child soldiers. And girls... He could not bear thinking without crying and vomiting. Hell on earth, working for almost sixteen to twenty hours a day, in the hot sun or in the rain, slopping through the mud with a shovel or piackaxe or even his own bare hands to bring out the valuable rocks that fund the warlords' armies. Starving with very little food to give them. Brutal treatment such as beatings, water cure, and electrocution. Disease was rife and the guards beat or shoot those who faltered. There were always new ones brought, beaten to give them a taste of hell. He could not imagine this horror, this travesty of decency. It was one thing to read it on the papers, watch on the tube, terrible as it was. It's another to be in it yourself.

One day as he comes out of the mines so another shift can work, he witnesses an SUV enter the camp under escort by two technicals. Out of them are some well-dressed gentlemen who come and greet the warlord and his entourage like old friends. Before he can look on, a shout and pointed rifle makes them move towards the wretched hovels that were their cells. But his curiosity is ever strong, and much to the horror of his fellow inmates, rips away a portion of the wall, just enough for him to get out. He slips by the guards who are enjoying themselves with drugs. He sneaks carefully around until he reaches the large house that is the warlord's home. It is a nerve-wracking exercise in control but he makes it.

He makes himself at home in the shadows. He saw a deal in progress, money for rocks. His heart seems to run away as a most cynical exchange had taken place. No doubt that money will be buy guns and ammo in another time. Toasts are made and drank and pleasantries exchange, sealing the deal. It takes all the strength and self-control he had left to escape quietly back to his cell.

In the weeks after that, a plan of escape forms in his mind. It will never be easy but it is worth a shot. He discusses with his cellmates or anyone who cares enough to listen when the guards aren't looking but all but a few scoffs his ideas. They listen well and all they need, he says, was to hold on to hope and wait for an opening.

 _That opening came for me. Bloody Sunday._

The whole camp is a state of terror as an attack was carried out against them. Everything left and right burns to the ground. Tracers fill the air as the rebels' feeble attempts are answered in bloody massacre. Congolese aircraft provide air cover but this mysterious force is destroying everything in seconds.

"DEMON! DEMON!" everyone cried as they scamper like grasshoppers escaping a savannah fire. He and his companions took advantage of the chaos, the rebels not caring as long as they save their own hides. Another atrocity occurs in front of him.

This demon landed in front of a column of rebel vehicles and seemingly slashes parallel beside them, leaving a trail of exploding trucks, jeeps, raining bodies and men screaming as they burn alive. _That was the most horrifying I've ever seen then. I had not known it was an Infinite Stratos that time. Stricken with malaria, all my main concern was getting myself and my cellmates out of that hellhole._

 _Calvary had not ended for us. We walked maybe a hundred kilometers through the wilderness, trying to make it back to safety._ He is only one left out of a dozen who left the camp. One by one, they succumb to disease or starvation. The events they seen back there are not up to discussion, yet there was a tacit agreement that we have seen is either something horrible or that it was all a hallucination brought by months of suffering. The end of the line came. Men with guns. Drawing closer and closer. He sees everything his been though has been for nothing. He collapses on his knees, the despair weighing his shoulders.

He hears voices, foreign tongues. Tongues he remembered back in Europe. He is lifted up by a pair of strong arms and realizes they are peacekeepers. Swedes. The man in front of him offers his canteen. He opens his mouths and tries to reach it but has long since weakened. The soldier gently pours it in his plastic mug and brings the water to his lips. Sweet water enters his parch throat as he drank heavily. Afterwards, they carry him away. To a place of safety. Civilization.

 _I was saved. For some weeks, I was bedridden in the hospital in a relief camp across the border. The memories of my hell in that camp played they always end with the Stratos tearing into the camp, like an angel seeking to to destroy Babylon. I have nightmares, I screamed in the middle of the night. I received therapy while I recuperated, telling of my experience in the camp. I talked of the horrors like it was clinical procedure. Fitting. That was until he recall the horror of Bloody Sunday. It was hard for me to put it in words yet whatever I spoke was turned into rough picture of what I saw. They said that I was hallucinating. That was the official stance anyway._

* * *

"Official word was that the government launched an offensive against the rebels," he explained. "It was at the beginning of summer back there. A dry season offensive. That opening skirmish, I believed, it was a test run for an Infinite Stratos the Germans were using."

"So it was Laura-chan then?" she asked excitedly, her bunny ears flicking about.

He shook his head. "No, it cannot be Laura Bodewig. Not the right age. It was another German pilot, Vannesa Huber, former German air force pilot who was transferred to Schwazer Hase, manning a second generation I.S. prototype, simply called Project X-29. If she had any anyone who served in the Waffen-SS in the family, they might have been proud."

"I think it's a poor comparison to make for Vannesa," Tabane noted. "She didn't kill you or your friends.."

"Of course she didn't. She had others to do that." That earned him a puzzling look from her. "There was one other survivor. He stayed behind at the camp after the slaughter. There had been some survivors and when the flames died down, the killing began again. This time by well-armed men who slaughtered anyone left behind and then they disappeared back in the woods. He escaped in the opposite direction where a government patrol found him. I remember his story making it to some papers, notably _The Guardian_ in the U.K. But he was dead via hit-and-run. So much for having made it to civilization."

"I think it was the Germans who did it." She skipped excitedly.

"No, not the Germans," he corrected. "Private contractors belonging a UK-based private military company, Claymore Executive Solutions. They belong to a subsidiary of Alcott Holdings. I recall one of the pilots is one Cecilia Alcott."

"Yup, it's Cecilia-chan." She beamed like she won the lottery.

"It reminds me about the default attitude the West has towards Africa, perhaps the rest of the world. The West, however they may say it, consider us to less civilized, their attitude had not changed really. My own home was considered to be the _Heart of Darkness_ , when it was the private property of a Belgian king who made money out of exporting rubber. And my people were exploited to make him a rich man. Anyone who filled his or her quota, a hand is chopped off. Yet, they still see themselves as the civilizing force of the world, a guiding hand to the untamed brutes of whom they saw us as.

"The truth is that a progressive Africa was far from their minds. To tear treasure out of the bowels of the land was their desire, with no more moral purpose at the back of it than there is in burglars breaking into a safe."

"That's awful. Yet, no one has stop them from doing that."

He shot her a glare. "Don't try to play innocent, Doctor. I learned that the mine I was slaved to was one of the main sources of raw material for your cores of the Stratos's. It had been going on for years!" He shot up from his block of concrete. "You are an accomplice of the exploitation of my people and elsewhere!"

She did not bat an eye. She did not flinch. For some reason, she remained icy as the chamber they're in. "Temedu-kun, I think you need to calm down."

She's right, he thought. He regained his composure. "A few years after that, the ruling party was deposed and a new one friendlier to foreign mining and logging interests was placed in power. They came to my country and elsewhere like locusts. The Infinite Stratos had done its job of 'pacifying' Congo and elsewhere. The mine was purchased and operated by a company belonging to one Marcel Lassarde, a friend to many in the French establishment and now the face of Françafrique. He also runs Toulouse Robotic Solutions, France's main I.S. manufacturer. I remember that his bastard daughter is an IS pilot. Typical nepotism of the French." He paused to catch his breath, which came out in icy puffs.

"Francafrique?" Tabane asked. The term was new to her.

"It is a term for France's relationship with her former colonies. The French, or at least the establishment, a slick, greasy bunch of bastards. Well, my country used to be owned by Belgium, not France but what does it matter now? The White Knight incident made the Infinite Stratos the weapon of the future - and triggered a new Scramble for Africa, or rather a scramble for resources across the world. Where my home used to be was bulldozed and cut down by a lumber company to make way for that sonofobitch Lassarde's operation."

"I'm sorry for that," she apologized.

His temper flared. "Your sorry for what? My home destroyed, my people in despair or the fact that my country is gutted to build your robots and their stupid cores?"

"They are not robots! THEY ARE MACHINES MEANT TO CHANGE THE WORLD!" The voice of Tabane sounded hoarse and deep, not the cheerful, bubbly kawaii voice she previously used a second ago. Her pupils dilated and her face wrought in anger. This transformation he actually found himself shaking.

There was silence. He had to consider his words. "I'm sorry, doctor. Low blow. I'm usually not that kind of man - until now." He looked at her, waited for her reaction. She may not look very intimidating but he knew about an angry person when he sees one, one who would jump him, to hell with the odds against her.

"My creations... brought peace... made things better... and they will change the world..." The words came out of her mouth rather haltingly, the fact that someone dared question her creations in their impact in the world had unsettled her.

He was feeling a little colder now. The heating was starting to fail. "Are you hungry?" he asked her.

"Huh?" The question caught her off guard.

"Why talk on an empty stomach?" He reached into his pocket and took out a chocolate bar. Her tossed her to it and she caught it expertly. Impressive, he thought. He took out his own bar and opened. It was refreshing to hear the ripping of paper and scraping of foil. A memory from a better time.

"You liked it?" That earned a chocolate-smudged face beaming with delight.

"Is there anymore?"

He regarded her. It wasn't generosity. He gave her a candy bar to mollify her, keep her engaged. A friend, one of many he had lost, told him about how he can win over others. Share piece of yourself, let them see that you are another human being, not a face in the wind - to let them know why you are destroying them later on. Eventually, they let their guard and they're yours. Even if they realize the trap, they have no place to escape. And that he should savor every moment of it. "I'm sorry, there were only two bars." He took a bite into his chocolate. "Yes, your creations impacted the world. Africa, Latin America, Indonesia, Southern China... Siberia. There is a given measure of how it change the world. If you live in a battered place, you'll understand that change wasn't good for us. I read the papers and see pictures of the multinational companies scarring the land, the reports of corporate misconduct and government ineptness - and brutality against my people. Anyone who reported this was either silenced by criticism or stonewalled.

"The more persistent ones met a predictable fate." He recalled the poor survivor who died of a alleged hit-and-run. The journalist he was talking to was now working some backwater town in Uruguay.

"The West is greedy. They think they rule world," she humphed, arms crossed. "Just trying to tell truth of the matter."

Strange, she's outraged about the West's conduct was assigned to Antarctica but failed to see how her creations made it happen. Yet, she was known to follow her own star. "The Alaska Treaty states no I.S. should be used in armed conflict but I understand the shady world the powers operate. They see themselves beyond the rules others have to follow. I.S. or not, they will continue to do so. So would their friends and cronies. I remember a lot of your countrymen grumble about the Alaska's treaty. They better off than us - not only do they have the luxury of not having their land turned into a goddamned mine but also profited from it as well.

"I'm not the only victim here. There are others, millions who saw their lives change by the advent of your creation one way or the other. The gap between rich and poor increased as funds for social services diverted to I.S. research and development. Disparity between the third and first worlds have risen. Africa lacks the means to stop this because we are divided, our leaders do not give a fuck for us. Brain drain draws our best and brightest out of the our homelands and left us even weaker than before. The world throws crumbs at us and called it international charity, washing their hands in the matter."

"That's heavy stuff but the West is West, right?" Tabane asked lightly.

 _You have no bloody idea!_ "It doesn't stop there. Outside my continent, beyond parts of Asia, and Latin America, other people became losers. The sharing of Infinite Stratos technology meant to prevent monopolization had an effect in the developed world. You think it would provide jobs? Well, look how it happened. In America, Europe, China, many lost their jobs while fat cats lined their pockets. Others became disgusted by the conduct of their governments towards the third-world and their own people. Also, a paranoid few saw the Infinite Stratos not as angel of peace like in the defense brochures but a harbinger of war and tyranny. Many protested the introduction of the weapon system, seeing how they displaced nukes as the world's deterrent and list goes on and on..." In his mind, he saw a great multitude of people from all walks of life and all nations under a blood-red sky, anger, disillusionment, despair etched on their faces. They ranged from the goatherds of Morocco and Indian _campesinos_ of Colombia to veterans of the War on Terror from America, Britain, France and the black hooded-protesters who showed up in the economic forums.

He saw boys of his native Congo, no more than eleven or twelve, with their right hands freshly-bandaged stumps of blood and eyes looking grimly and despondently into his.

* * *

A/N: References, ahoy! _Heart of Darkness_ is a novella by Polish-born British author Joseph Conrad set in colonial Congo, when it was the Congo Free State, ruled directly by King Leopold of Belgium. The novella is a harsh critic of imperialism, white man's burden, and racism; and explores the the dark depths of the human psyche so far from civilization. The "To tear treasure out of the bowels of the land..." was from the novella itself. Charlotte never knew her father, who was mentioned as the CEO of a French weapons company developing Stratos's so a thought hit me and I invented him as Marcel Lassarde, also if there's anything involving Africa, Cecilia's late father would have been in on the deal. Francafrique is a very real thing, look it up. The ending is harks back to the reality that inspired Heart of Darkness, every native Congolese who does not fulfill his or her quota of rubber will lose one of their hands.


	3. Why We Fight

**Why We Fight**

A/N: By the way, Garth Ennis's _War Stories_ are actually two different series. The first eight stories were entitled _War Story_ , followed by a subtitle. His second work is named _War Stories_ , of a total of eighteen issues. I also managed to read Ennis's 1997 run of _Unknown Soldier_. As you can see, I made this story at the spur of the moment so it's not my best work. If you're asking if I dislike Infinite Stratos, I can't exactly say. I just noticed the issues that a presented, half-baked as they seemed, were not explored. But then again, this is a fanfiction. As a matter of fact, I'm actually entertaining the idea of writing one but that may never happen. I have too many projects as it is but sharing ideas is certainly on the table, probably the closest to writing it. Kudos to meh for his suggestive review, which gave my story a turn than I originally planned.

* * *

"The Alaska Treaty," Tanabe pointed out, "prohibits the use of Infinite Stratos in any conflict, therefore Huber-chan's machine should never be there."

"Correct," agreed Temedu. "However, it never explicitly stated against prototypes. The Germans conveniently recalled X-29 for 'overhaul' so they can field test it in the Congo, a place that no one cares except to source raw material for constructing more of it. Mission accomplished." The rumble of the fighting far above them, beyond the high ceiling, reverberated in the amphitheater of ice, stone, concrete and steel. From the large chasm that plunges to the bottom, snow began to float down.

"Well, tell me how people even in developed nations still ended up losers?" She was curious about that point the Congolese brought up earlier.

"The Infinite Stratos system was a success overnight but like all new inventions that suddenly took the world by storm, its impact was sudden and without warning. Everyone wanted to build an I.S. for their defense needs as soon as the data streamed out but the rush to procure them have created complications in the already complex flow of the world. I know not the vagaries of economics, nor the greasy going-ons in the backrooms, nor the spin of the media but I know the ugly fruit they bore when I see it. The Infinite Stratos procurement rush acted like a runaway freight train. Governments wanted it as the core of their armies, economists predicted its potential to stimulate growth in all relevant sectors, promising a new era of unprecedented prosperity. But the heat has burned so many along the way. Companies have destroyed themselves, heating up then imploding while trying to fulfill the demands of the rush one way or the other. The banks cashing in on the defense spending craze found themselves sinking in the morass and whereas lesser banks sink, the big ones, who are proclaimed 'too big to fail', received bailouts as per usual, but seriously we are talking about banks here?"

Tabane had softened her look. "It's lamentable that my inventions would disrupt the world turns. Yet still..."

"The real cost is still human..." he hinted darkly, drawing a foggy breath. "Millions of people bore the burdens of the arms race one way or the other. The myopia, the resulting resentment, the injustice has pushed many of them into the ranks of Phantom Task and its confederates." He seem saddened. "Comrades."

* * *

 _Three year earlier..._  
 _Bordeaux, France_

The city of Bordeaux was like Paris on the Biscay. It rivaled Paris in every respect from history to nightlife. A port city on the Garonne River, ships from the Bay of Biscay and boats from further down river ply their trade, much like London with its Thames River. An odd yet fitting comparison as Bordeaux was once under English rule through the marriage of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Count Henri Plantagenet, who shortly became King Henry II of England. The region in which the city was founded was blessed with a geography and climate conducive for the growth of vineyards that produced its world-famous wines. Bordeaux sported no skyscrapers like the the City of Light as its weak subsoil will not permit it, making it sprawl outward. It needs none of that. Bordeaux's heritage included some of the oldest museums in the country and about 5,000 thousand buildings of Baroque and Gothic styles, whose beauty promptly impressed the famous writer Victor Hugo into quipping "Take Versailles, add Antwerp, and you have Bordeaux". In fact, Bordeaux provided the model for rebuilding Paris into a modern capital under Napoleon III, a fact pointed out by any proud Bordelais, much to the annoyance of Parisiens, one of the many flashpoints in a hot feud for the honor of their respective cities that goes on for generations.

Bordeaux's nightlife is something that needs to experienced. The shopping is yet another point to rankle Parisians as the Rue Saint Catherine, known as the longest shopping strip in Europe **,** is a 1.2 kilometer-long stretch of high-end shops, brasseries, cafés and shopping centers. This includes the famous department store "Galeries Lafayette" which has its interiors designed to resemble a royal palace **.** Along the Rue saint Catherine is 250-year old Bordeaux Grand Theater, where many merry ballets and thunderous operas were held for the entertainment of the upper crust. The food of the city is quintessential French, where one can sample at the local pubs, cafes and bars around Place de la Victoire some foie gras or fresh oysters from the Atlantic, accompanied with some of the better local vintages with some live music paired with a relaxing atmosphere for a stress free evening.

Nestled in a narrow sidestreet was the _Marlene et Edith_. It was a tavern who praised it for its good food for a decent price, its selection of drinks, and its relaxing ambiance, making it a frequent watering hole for the locals and the fact that it was discreetly tucked away from the main tourist thoroughfares of city made it even more prized. It was named by its original owner when he founded it in 1945 after two famous song sirens of the era, Edith Piaf and Marlene Dietrich. The _Marlene et Edith_ has seen many things during its history from the postwar recovery of France, to the May 1968 students protests that rocked the country, to Mitterrand's socialism. Such scenes often were nothing more than backdrops of more intimate scenes to the locals such as the group of friends having a drink, of lovers meeting each other, of being packed with locals over national and international soccer matches crying themselves hoarse over their favorite teams, of lovelorn who drown their sorrows away, of students were either celebrating or hard at work.

Such a scene was taking place for a group of men and women that night. It was a time for celebration and for good reason. This was to be their last night before they ship off.

To go to war against the world.

"And I said to teh the bastard: 'Wank off,'" proclaimed a man, his Irish accent very strong, seemed stronger with the wine he was drinking. His remarked him a roaring chorus of laughter. _Seamus Wolfe, a former Irish Defense Force Ranger from County Cork. He was a good soldier_. _He had enough keeping the peace only for some warlord to break a ceasefire and watch everything he protected burn_.

"Chyort, you dumb idiot, if you see said that to my old boss, General Padorin, he'd string you by the balls." The Ukrainian took a shot at his Calvados, downing it in a gulp and let out a satisfied sigh. _Vasili Levchenko, paratrooper of the 25th Airborne Brigade of Ukraine. He had seen Russia gobble up the Donbass and Crimea and the final blow to him was the defense cuts that axed his old unit into half its strength. He saw his country throwing its lot with the European Union as wrong, knowing the Russians posses an I.S. whereas his home had to cut limbs just to pay for the cost of the conflict_.

"Boys, boys, settle down," said a woman who just got another order of oysters and asparagus cooked in white wine sauce, hobbling to her seat on a robotic prosthetic leg. "The night's still young and you're already telling war stories." _Abigail Grabarczyk of Chicago, Illinois, sergeant, a sniper who did four tours in Iraq, Afghanistan, and other places. She had more than a hundred confirmed kills. Lost a leg to an I.E.D. Again, downsizing but it if that sort of thing was one she could take in with stride, what pushed her was the lack of opportunities at her hometown as military-related contracts squeezed off life from other sectors - she wanted to be a teacher but the schools lack funding_.

 _She lost a leg, can't she get the new ones?_

 _The fully functional ones based on your technology? it was still new then. Her insurance won't cover it and her Army pension won't do since the cuts increased red tape_. _Also, the nature of military manufacturing these days require more automation, more machines making machines, so the idea that that they provide jobs is a myth_.

"If it isn't the peg-legged sniper," greeted Seamus, looking up. "Why don't you join the festivities?" A sly smile lit up his face.

"You're Irish, Seamus, don't you think you should chugging whiskey?" she teased. "I only drink less because someone needs to keep an eye on you boys." This caused some mock groans from the others in the tables.

"What are yah, my mother?" Seamus asked playfully.

"Well, Seamus, you do need somebody to watch your ass," she replied playfully. "I mean you seem to do a lot of drinking these days."

"I drink whenever the seasons call for it," he replied smiling behind his wine glass. "I drink for joy, I drink for love, I drink for Manchester United. This may be our last night in this world, Abby. I come to savor it."

"Touche, Seamus." She gave him a wink, which caused a few awes from the tables and a pat from Levchenko

"Best coffee I ever tasted." Another American, bespectacled Alan De Monda, bringing a sip of the hot dark liquid to his lips. _A graduate of Cal-Tech in many degrees related to information and computer technology. A paranoid conspiracy theorist who believed the Infinite Stratos is another attempt by the so-called New Order to impose control on the world_. _That I don't agree, it's been a reality to begin with but I agree with most of he had to say_. "Shame it isn't sourced from an ethical farm."

"What sort of crap is that?" Richard Markham cried aloud, his dusky face florid from all the strong vintage hew had been drinking tonight. _Markham, from American Samoa. His reasons for being with us is that we need expert seaman. Markham was a smuggler as well as a fisher - the latter began after Japanese trawlers went to his side of the ocean and routinely strip it of its bounty. He was left with a house on foreclosure while people in Tokyo feasted on sushi_.

 _That's harsh_.

 _Truly. Makes you think they next time you order sushi_.

"Any place that isn't a sweatshop or slave plantation in a third-world country, a place that actually let's people feed their families, not for the profit of some asshole 'pillar-of-the-community' robber baron and some Wall Street fat-cat who lent to him."

"Sounds like Moskali propaganda," observed Levchenko. "Back in the old days when my home was the Ukraine S.S.R."

"Read some of my personal history. My family came to the States during the mid-19th century, heard about America being a land of opportunity. The moment we got off the boat, we had to do all sorts of jobs just to get by. You can't live off eight cents a day laborer back then."

"De Monda, that brings to my mind that your country has used military force to protect their economic interests, occasionally political?"

"Yeah, I'm aware of that. Latin America has neither for forgotten nor forgiven us for that. We have done nothing to put an end to that and every generation has to put up with that as best as they can."

"Where'd you learn that?" Abigail ask.

"I'm just a simple fisherman but as a smuggler, I come with contact with many sorts of people all the time."

"Speaking of interests, they've done that in Italy, when they capped Moro."

"Land of opportunity, sweet fuck all," muttered Frankie Aiken, taking a swig of his wine. _Aiken, native to London's East End. The man had a history of crime and went to war to avoid a lengthy prison sentence. Now he's the run again, to Phantom Task_. "Bloody Yanks tooting their shite like they're the fookin' best in the world. Half the fookin' problems we 'ave now er caused by 'em."

"Calm, down Francisco," said Armando Farfan. "We have two of them here." _Farfan had been a lawyer from Peru. Respectable, middle-class background. One day, he took a job to represent the interests of an Indian village, over disputes with a mining company. He had a firm belief in justice and respect for the law but he lived in an increasingly dangerous time and while not naive, had been blind to his own safety in his increasingly frustrated quest to deliver justice for his clients. He received death threats and was finally shot. His recovery nine months later had seen the village bulldozed and an ugly scar of a mine in its place, teeming with wretched shanty towns. That broke him..._

He let out a surly snort. "Those two are fine in my book. And don't try that Spanish bollocks on my first name."

Farfan smiled at him. "How about we each have a bottle of the restaurant's finest vintage. If you don't get hammered within the first few seconds of finishing it, I'll stop calling you Francisco. If I lose, then you call me... what's that word, toff?"

Aiken smiled even wider. A drinking bet always attracted the Cockney booze hound. "You're on."

"Bueno." With the sauve charm and amiability of his former life, he ordered a few bottles of premium vintage. The waiter promptly returned with the bottles in an ice bucket. The rest of the small throng of Phantom Task recruits silenced their own merrymaking as they watch the mismatched pair of an East Ender riffraff and a bourgeois(formerly) ex-lawyer drink up, most people did know the latter had been a frat boy in his college days. Bottle corks pop and then comes the gulping, with most cheering them on.

"Funny how people can be together," Temedu said in his broad Congolese accent. "Without regard to class, nationality, or ethnicity, of creed or belief?"

"To some extent, yes." Felipe Bautista relaxed back, watching the drinking contests progress. _Felipe was from the Philippines. A former history professor whose brother was a soldier fighting insurgents in the south. He was killed during the emergence of a new terrorist organization, backed by Phantom Pain_. "It's when people have something in common that we get together. A common purpose, something which is bigger than themselves."

"Big enough to scare them." The two men had just finished their bottles of wine. Still, they held their liquor without any noticeable effect. More cheering as another pair of corks pop. "I should be."

Felipe turned to him. "What, are you having second thoughts?"

"No... Yes." He rubbed his face tiredly. "This 'job offer' we've taken is a really shady one."

"I do not."

"Why is that so?"

"I have thought this through for months. The decision had come a long time ago before we were even approached by Mr. Tam. You see, as a history professor, I noticed the ebb and flow of history. Some people embraced change, some people react to it, and then there are those who sought to control it - for the status quo. You see, I've had enough of the march of time being controlled by the likes of the big powers: China, America, and who knows what else. We've had enough of that at home with the our political elite and the oligarchs. We are but cattle to them - always been that since the time of the Spaniards."

"You had once been a colony?"

"Yes, for more than three centuries. Followed by the Americans for four decades uninterrupted except for the Japanese during World War II. I can safely say we are a step above La Madre Puta's former colonies in the Americas insofar as anything fucked by the Yankees after Spain left as can be. Not that it makes anything better." He sighed. "I simply see nothing better. It's time we put a stop to the powers. The world is no longer the playground of the few. My brother died... probably believing he was doing his duty... But he died to benefit the few at the top."

"And would our signing up really change the world?" Temedu asked, the question was heavy.

"I don't think we have much of a choice now. Anything approaching a peaceful protest comes for nothing - and they make sure it stays that way." He turned to Temedu as he refilled his glass. "Why did you join up?"

"I was a survivor."

* * *

"I related to him my story. How I survived the hell in that slave pit and how I bore witness to an I.S. test run. He was astounded to realize to see a man who witnessed the war machine in action first hand." Another pause, another foggy breath drawn.

Taben felt cold as well so she wrapped herself in a wool shawl that she had the foresight to bring. "So, you and your friends went to war... against the powers and the Infinite Stratos?"

"Indeed, we do." His grip on the pistol was slack now. He looked at her again. Tabane seemed like a lost little girl with the woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders. "For most of us, we have nothing to lose."

* * *

Ever since that incident he was never the same man that he was. He could never go on with what he set out to do. He never returned to the DRC. There was no opportunity there and there was no chance for him to grow opportunity. He remained in Europe, working a technical department. The horror never left him. He would wake up in the middle of the night, reeling from the nightmares. He would drink to relieve himself of the pain of reminiscence after work.

He was guilty as well. Guilty of putting his trust in the powers. Guilty of taking that scholarship from that government, and latter from a foriegn school, when he was just a lad in a public school, showing potential from his idle tinkering with scrapped electrics that made some occasional use for him. He naively thought that a new day will dawn on Africa and that learning abroad then applying it at home would be the start.

Because of that, his village, his family, his world died in a storm of blood and fire.

The whole incident darkened the world in his eyes. Nothing good ever seemed to come out of it wherever he went and why shouldn't it be? He passed by the immigrant ghettos and street crime on his way home after dark. Clash between immigrants and local youths had become frequent. There were homeless people in the streets, yet none of it bothered him. He can't bear to read or watch news from his native DRC as for every nugget of hope he can find, all he saw was more misery - the "peace" brought about by Vannesa Huber's I.S.

Work had turn to a nihilistic exercise. Everything he did was routine. From waking up in the forming, taking the subway or walking to work, to going home. It was only when he drunk did he feel human again - one that was constantly dying in the inside. He drunk to recall the better times of his life back in the Congo. It was through this ritual the dead join him. He can remember the sights, the sounds, the smells... Oh the smells, from his mother's cooking, the dormitories of Zurich with the alcohol of students on a particularly exciting football match, and the stench of the camps, the swirling memories were brought to the surface in his lone vigil.

The end often came when he sank to bed, troubled into a dreamless sleep. In morning, the hangover would signal his return to reality.

Yet he was given a hand of rebirth when a man named Hamish Tam approached him and had a drink with him.

* * *

"Are you sure you want this?" Tam asked him as they sipped another round of whiskey. The question was a culmination of three months of afternoon drinks at the same pub, talking day after day of the state of the world since the things that have changed them. Hamish had once been a foreman of a factory that made armored fighting vehicles, closed down due to loss of contracts since the I.S. appeared, only rehiring a portion of the laid-off work force. Temedu, a survivor of a horror which the world consistently denied. This shared sense of loss and alienation had gave them common ground. The world they saw change since its inception had turned the former to a new calling.

A lethal one.

He had intimated that it was not going to be an easy one, that commitment must be total, the risks enormous... no turning back.

"This isn't the sorta thing for a midnight run," he repeated. "This is full time. And when I mean 'full time', you're with us with the whole duration. Victory or death."

The question stunned him. "Victory or death?"

"Like I said, this requires total commitment. No half-hearted shite. When we have our talks over Scotch, you sound to me like a man looking for purpose, looking to avenge your redresses."

Temedu looked slightly alarmed as he pieced together the implication. "Are you some terrorist or..."

"We strike terror in the source of the problem," he pointed out. "No, we are not in the league of Al-Qeada or F.A.R.C. We aim higher." He relaxed in his seat and looked out the window. "I can tell you a story but I don't think you wanna join up just for me to tell. So, you'll have to make up your mind. The offer goes out with me and and I'll be out of your life for good."

The Congolese realized he been scouted out by this Scot, who was looking for people to join up with whatever venture he was offering, one of terror. Rather than be outraged or shocked, Temedu was deep in thought. Here was a chance to strike a blow on the forces of the world that had ruined his home, ruined his country. Yet, Hamish implied that drastic methods were needed, needed to fight against them.

"What's it gonna be, man?" he asked, the final threshold.

He looked up and his eyes were filled with acceptance and resolve. "Yes." That day, he and a group of castoffs joined the ranks of Phantom Task.

* * *

A/N: The title for this chapter is derived from director Frank Capra's series of propaganda films during the Second World War. Moskali is a pejorative term for Russians in Ukraine, derived from the historic name of residents of Moscow. F.A.R.C. stands for _Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia -_ Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia. _La Madre Puta_ is a play on one of the old nickname of Spain given by its colonies, _La Madre Patria_ , considering the poor track record of Spanish colonization.


	4. Commence! Commence! Commence!

**Commence! Commence! Commence!**

A/N: My first naval battle. As such I have no idea about the nautical, naval, and technical terms appropriate and tried to come up with something workable in the best possible manner.

* * *

"Life as we know it has changed for us," Temedu continued. "As with our chosen vocation" - he was surprised he used that word for something that constitute a crime against humanity -"Phantom Pain has its apprentice- and internships. We were trained and sent out on small missions together to learn the ropes, test our skills and aptitudes, test our resolve. One small job I'll never forget was back in the South Pacific." His mind returned to their small little sideshow where they saved a small nation from the machinations of cliques and powers far beyond their horizon.

* * *

 _Two years ago_  
 _South Pacific_  
 _Republic of Jacuta_  
 _0115 Hours_

It was a moonless night. The calm seas lapped against the hull of a forty-foot yacht as it cruised sedately near the coast. Inside the main cabin, everything was black except for the glow of the instrument panels as a blackout was enforced aboard the vessel. Temedu kept watch with a pair of high-powered night-vision binoculars with adjustable zoom. Seamus took the helm while Vasili manned the radar. "We have nothing on this area here. So far so good."

 _The republic of Jacuta is a small archipelago that was gripped by civil war. Two years ago, disputes in the election results and several scandals involving the incumbent party had thrown the country into chaos. The war was a sea war, with the several factions taking to the high seas and we took our pick. The response from the Powers was to set up a blockade to keep it from escalating with the Royal Australian Navy and Air Force working the waters, but that's about it. Jacuta is too out of the way for anyone to have real interest in keeping the peace but to Phantom Task, it's just right._

"Alright, fifteen degrees starboard," ordered Markham, captain of the vessel. Abigail, overall commander, sat next to him. Outside, one of the new guys kept watched seating next to a twin .50 covered under a tarp.

"Fifteen degrees, aye," replied Vasili, a little too eagerly. He'd always wanted to say that. He brought the vessel to bear.

Careful, Vasili," cautioned the Samoan. "We don't want to run aground on the hidden reefs here."

"You sure this is the place?" Temedu asked Markham.

"This would be the perfect spot. I used to run this route back in smuggling days. And if our intel is right, this should be the meeting place of the Sandoval People's Restoration Council and their arms supplier."

"If it is right," Wolfe pointed out.

"Are the other boats in position?" Markham asked.

"We don't know yet. Everyone is under radio silence. Farfan and Bautista's team had set up a C3 post up in the highest point to control this op."

Wolfe whistled irrelevantly. "Ah, just what we need: a remote-controlled battle."

"Don't worry. It's Felipe and Armando. They'll just guide us in. We do the shooting ourselves."

"Hope they don't get into any local trouble," piped Vasili.

"We've established ties with the local militia controlling these parts," said Abigail. ". They and the Sandovals are currently fighting for control of this sector."

"We got a radio message," Alan said from the radio shack through the intercom.

"Patch it through," Markham ordered.

The intercom cracked alive with the voice of Felipe. "All call signs. This is Eagle-Eye. We have confirmation of vessel entering Jacutan territorial waters in the southwestern portion of the outer fringe. Scanning... Hang on... Confirmed, it's our boat. Proceed slowly to meeting point. Keep to the coasts, the radar clutter will confuse them." They did not respond as radio silence was the main rule of the night.

Abigail ordered, "Shut down, radar. We are under EMCOM." EMCOM was emissions control. Radar was to be shutdown to prevent electronic emissions from detection by Australian EA-18G Growler and P-8 Poseidon aircraft as well as supporting American aircraft deployed from a carrier group and faraway Guam. The land teams face no such problem as radio and cell phones were transmitting all the time in the islands, even at this state of civil war.

"Would the bad guys be under EMCOM?" Wolfe asked no one in particular.

"If they have half a brain," Temedu responded as he continued to scan. "Or...

It was Abigail who voiced his sentiment, "They're in somebody's pocket somewhere in Washington or London." They had long been acquainted with the world of covert operations. She then added, "Markham, make speed for rendezvous point."

Markham ordered through the intercom. "Aikens, ten knots."

"Ten knots, aye," replied Aiken from below decks in the engine room. He and a new guy, a mechanic from Osaka named Toshi, brought more power to the three diesels. The engines went from humming to thrumming with power. The three propellers spun in unison as the boat sped up.

"All hands, man your battle stations. All hands man your battle stations." At that order, the tarp forward was removed and more men came topside to remove the tarps and man the hidden armaments of the boat. Temedu had a not in his stomach as he took his position at the port side, manning an MG3 with night sights.

One final radio message from Eagle-Eye, Farfan's voice. "All call signs, be advised. Cloud cover will break soon in four minutes. You'll be illuminated by clear moonlight. Electronic Warfare drones will be up in the air in two. You'll be under radio silence, limiting coms to ship to ship. _Vaya con Dios_." The radio squawked off.

"So much for stealth," Abigail observed. "Increase speed."

This is it. The biggest job, the biggest fight since they started. Their first naval engagement and it was against gunrunners supplying arms to a faction paid for by the Sarashikis. They had yet another crack at another bigtime player in this secret war. Other boats emerged from the coast surging in a loose formation against their target.

* * *

"The Sarashikis?" asked Tabane in mild surprise.

His face remained cold as the freezing air slowly entering their part of the complex. "Yes, they played this sort of game but we will be coming to that later."

* * *

"Speed up, twenty knots," Markham ordered. Aiken relayed the order.

"Vessels on sight, forward three hundred yards," Temedu called out. "Smaller vessels swarming out of the coves."

"Here comes the hell." She ordered, "All guns, commence! Commence! Commence!" The shooting began. The forward fifties roared to life, spitting a hail of lead on the smaller vessels as they attempt to protect the coastal freighter bringing in their cargo of supplies including the all important munitions. The some of the smaller boats veered to engage the interlopers.

"Enemy boats, bearing one oh-clock!"

"Give him hell!"

The air was alive with tracers and the clouds broke cover to light up this little naval action. Temedu immediately cocked the machinegun and started firing at the closest boat racing by him. The burst didn't seem to hit but he saw a man with a rifle go down. He concentrated on his part of the battle and fired controlled bursts at the boats shooting him. Another boat was chewed to pieces by another boat's forward fifty and Temedu let loose a long burst at his second boat, which exploded into an orange fireball.

"RPG!" screamed a gunner as the rocket narrowly missed the boat. The gunner caught a bullet to the throat for his trouble.

"Man down!" another screamed. Temedu raced for his fallen friend. Another man scambled upwards from below decks.

"Get back to your gun!" he cried at him. "I'll handle him." With that, the Congolese went back to his MG3 while the bleeding gunner was dragged below.

As the smaller skiff was about to make another pass with the RPG, the rear portside gunner loosed a volley with his M19 Grenade Launcher, the 40mm rounds wrecked the skiff completely into flying matchsticks and reddish puffs of its crew. Grunting, he fired at whatever was shooting at him, reloading a fresh belt every now and then.

Temedu's boat surged forward at flank speed to approach the freighter. They brought their broadside to bear at the small boats protecting the vessel, shooting them away. Then powerful floodlights lit from the vessel.

The sudden lights dazzled the gunners. "Ah, you bastards!" cried Wolfe.

"Put that light out!" shouted Abigail. The gunners responded wildly, shooting away at the railings where the lights where. They also blew away and/or pinned the crew as they responded with their own shooting. This had got some of the top deck crew and forced the rest to get down.

"Ah, fuck!" cried Alan as he got down as holes popped next to him, hitting some of his equipment.

"We're taking heavy fire from the freighter," Abigail radioed. "We're peeling off. Someone get that vessel." Their gunners fired as hard as they could to cover the withdrawal.

"Roger," radioed another boat. From the boat's side came to two streaks of fire, fast leaving a wake of smoke. "Redfish Two, missiles away."

"Redfish Three, missiles away!" radioed Redfish Three. The anti-tank missiles they carried board found their marks, hitting the radio hut, the lower deck where a fifty was, and the bridge. The warheads were tipped with thermobaric explosives, which increased the explosive effect, ripped their targets apart. That essentially decapitated the freighter, who already set course back into the open ocean.

"Redfish Two, Redfish Three, outstanding. Get you a case of beer for that," Abigail deadpanned in with a hint of gratitude.

"That's a roge, Redfish One," replied -Two. "Let's end this thing and go home. We'll cover."

"Markham, take her for attack."

"You got it." Markham guided the vessel again for another attack run, this time with her real main weapons: two torpedoes mounted at the side, taken from surplus naval armaments about to scrapped. "Steady, Vasili. We're gonna make it." The helmsman, Vasili, was doing exactly that as he kept course to line up their aim.

"Steady..." The boat roared down as the crippled vessel kept course, as it lost control with its bridge.

"Steady..." They were close now, they can see the panicking crew scrambling over the decks like ants on a disturbed pound cake. They were desperately jumping ship.

"NOW! FISH AWAY!" At that Vasili fired both fish and cleared off as the torpedoes rapidly streaked towards the vessel's side. By slight mechanical failure, the port fish had a skewed rudder, taking it towards stern where the engines were while the starboard continued on the center...

The freighter was rocked with a tremendous explosion as the fish hit. The port fish apparently ignited fuel bunkers while the starboard had itself a conventional fireball, briefly lighting up the predawn darkness. Some of the sailors were thrown into the air and splashed into the sea.

"YES!" hollered Wolfe. "Scratched a gunrunner!" This was followed by more cheering. Temedu, however, did not cheer as he watched through the binoculars men on fire throwing themselves overboard to douse the flames. More liquid fire spilled into the sea as those in the water tried to outswim it. He can hear faint screaming carried by the wind. It was horrible!

"What have we done?" he said to himself quietly.

Abigail watched the scene impassively. Then directed the next course of action: "All call signs. Head for home with all speed. We're done for the night." They squawked in response. "Markham, get us out of here."

"Alright, Wolfe, take us to for home." Wolfe responded, happily complied as they left seas, leaving the sailors to their fate. In the morning the sharks will have eaten most of them. Those who were still alive by them will be floating away, seeking help. Those who managed to make it to the nearest island will be marooned with the additional danger of meeting any of the fighting factions. To die in obscurity is the fate of those who live below the horizon of human existence.

* * *

"The loss of the freighter, _Shishen Maru_ , with its cargo of weapon changed the tide of the war. Our bet had won. Jacuta has become another link in our network of support infrastructure. The Sarashikis wanted to turn the island nation into a tax haven for their more questionable schemes. Our attack is just another reminder that the advent of the I.S. did not deter others from resorting to violence, nor can it intervene meaningfully to resolve it."

"Well, I knew they'll do anything," Tabane answered. "But not that sort of thing."

"They are far from benevolent. Like everyone else, they play the power game."

* * *

A/N: The above title was an order used by the Royal Navy whenever an engagement begins. For any Far Cry palyers out there, Jacuta was the setting of the little-remembered first game, which had sci-fi elements. The chapter was mainly inspired by _War Stories_ Issues 16-18. Now off to the Sarashikis but don't expect it to come soon. More projects.


	5. From WAR, Two Phantoms Were Born

**From WAR, Two Phantoms Were Born**

 **Part I: Aristocrats, Thugs, and Carpetbaggers**

A/N: Sorry for the hiatus, this is Anime Borat. Here is my take on the Sarashikis of the Infinite Stratos universe. The Sarashikis are not a family in the traditional sense but an organization dedicated to fighting Phantom Task. This is my take on them as I don't see them as benevolent as they implied in the light novel series. The next chapter would cover Phantom Task.

Thanks, Matthew, for your provocative evange-rant. Now my reviews are none for this chapter.

* * *

The snow starting to fall in droves. The battle above refused to die away. Was it day or night? Temedu thought. It didn't really matter. It was the season of the midnight sun in Greenland at this time of year. This freezing land, virtually untouched until now, provided the stage at which the futuristic war machines performed for their savage dance numbers, the clash of steel and the flash and thunder of bombs were their laser light show.

"Snowing hard, is it?" he asked. There was no one else to answer that question but Tabane. That question was simply rhetorical.

"It snows hard in Hokkaido," she pointed out, still huddled in her shawl. She breathed the cold air. "Honestly, the winters there are a whole lot better than anywhere else in Japan. Then there's the hot springs and cabins out in the woods. Loved it." She clearly missed Hokkaido. Moreover, she missed home, with her sister and her college lab, where she developed the IS system.

"My first winter in Switzerland was very amazing," Temedu added. "The closest thing to snow back home was scraping the ice out of my uncle's ice machine so I can make a snow ball which I can throw at my brother." His eyes glisten as he recalled his own happier times, holding his tears back as those memories ended in fire and smoke. "Truly... a wonderland." The voice quaked as he thought back of how wide-eyed he had been to see snow fall out of the window of his dormitory.

"Nice." Then her face was more melancholy. "I miss my sister, Ichika, and Chifuyu."

"The boy pilot? Aikens calls him Itchy Cock," Temedu added his two cents, a slight smile curving on his lips at the Cockney's witty comment.

She almost chuckled at that. "Funny." Tabane then frowned as thought something intruded rudely into her own thoughts. "You know what I don't miss in the slightest?"

Temedu was taken from his musing back to the here and now with her. "What is it?"

"My bloody sponsors," she hissed bitterly. "Bastards who kept me working round the clock to create the IS system. It seems I made a deal with the devil, if I don't deliver results, they cut off my funding." He could see anger wrought on her face. "I hated their representatives, their little grocery boys, haughtily demanding progress on my works, citing that their petty bosses needed to know so they can make their financial forecasts." Her fists clenched and unclenched. "I hated them... The little grocer boys but I hated their bosses more so... chief among them the Sarashikis."

This was sudden, he thought. He never knew Tabane to hate anything. In fact, he realized how little she knew of her in spite of her dossier which he admittedly had not read in full. "You worked with them. What do you know?"

"Not much except I know they're more powerful than they let the world know about." She shrugged her shoulders. "It comes with the territory, I guess. Rich, powerful old family going back to the centuries. Having a lot of ties with government and business, shady deals like that in Jacuta. What's more to say about them?"

Temedu had never told anyone else but ever since Alan De Monda was transferred to intelligence as an analyst, he become privy to many secret files archived by Phantom Task. The Sarashiki "family's" file was thick, consisting of several volumes. This kind of work aroused his paranoia and in his fevered state of mind, the four-eyed American turned to him as confidant. It was a shaky relationship, as he at times grilled him rigorously to know if he was from PT's counterintelligence desk, which made him wonder how he was not suspected by that very desk of leaking information beyond top-secret to him! The information he intimated was staggering in scope and scale, it really blew his mind and gave him nightmares, of how they routinely subverted countries and organizations like child's play and how they others like Phantom Task engage in this and their impact on the world. How could such corruption, power plays, secret struggles go for so long beyond the knowledge of the world?

"There is indeed more about them than you think, Miss Shinonono." His response got Tabane to look up in attention. He had carried with him the dossier Phantom Task had on the Sarashikis as everything went to hell. It's now time to explain to her the cold, hard truth about that "family."

* * *

He slowly got up and approached her. The scientist's eyes widened, wary about what move he'll do next. He still had a gun. Not that she wasn't afraid to die. Rather she had the urge to do something before she passed away. What it was she was never sure until now. Was it to improve the Infinite Stratos system and its spin-offs? To send the world a message? If so, what sort of message?

He stopped. He pulled out a dossier, the folder flaps snapping audibly. He handed it to her. Curious why she wasn't shot dead, she accepted it and noticed the title: IAF-89: SARASHIKIS.

She opened to see the usual book-style organization which included table of contents. She randomly turned to a page to see an old sepia photo with an old man surrounded by samurai and other soldiers armed with a mix of traditional and modern weapons, the caption reading _1865, Musashi Sarashiki and bannermen_.

"Are these the Sarashikis?" she asked, pointing the photo.

"Yes. That was them before, as an actual family."

"Interesting..." She scanned the text with her eyes, which provided an introduction into the old clan.

"The old Sarashiki clan was not a family in the convention and criminal sense. They were once small, disparate criminal gangs who cannot compete with the power of the Yakuza, disenfranchised samurai and their retinue, and small political cliques who rallied around a small, impoverished landowning family of the same name during the end of the Tokugawa era. First hating the new government for its radical realignment of the ancient feudal hierarchy and for opening the gates to the reviled "Gaijin", they rebelled but they had not mobilized completely to participate in the Satsuma Rebellion. This was the blessing for it impressed them with the power of modernization and the new government's ruthlessness and seriousness on their path to modernizing Japan. Furthermore, they got a new calling for the pragmatic opportunities presented to them by the new wave and ideological accord which had struck them: their quest to make Japan a world power, a dream of many past emperors such as Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who attempted to carve out at an Empire of the Rising Sun centuries before."

Tabane flipped a page to see another group picture, this time mostly people dressed in nineteenth century Western clothing with smattering of men dressed in traditional kimonos. The only difference was that all their haircuts were uniformly Western-style. They were meeting government officials in what was apparently tea time.

" At first, they dabbled in political intrigue to increase their power and for that of Japan. They actively subverted anything that is an antithesis to anything that ran contrary to traditional such peasant associations, democracy activists, dissidents, much to the satisfaction of the powerful conservative factions. Of course they don't just blindly rip them apart. As was their modus operandi, they closely studied those organizations to see if they can derive any benefit from, for them and their nominal masters. The ones they deemed profitable were gradually persuaded to accept the status quo defined by the state, the establishment." Tabane flipped a random page to see photographs of dead bodies on the ground while Meiji government soldiers stood by, apparently bringing them for identification. "Those less promising were rendered into irrelevant obscurity at best. Destroyed mercilessly at worst. This allowed them to keep tabs on who are their potential friends in a sea of enemies and cultivate contacts among the unlikeliest of people, such skills which would take them far in the future."

Those last words put a chill on her back. This "family" was nothing like she imagined. She suspected them of secret deeds, of illegal activities but nothing this... horrible. She looked up to face him.

"Turn the pages, it gets better," he suggested plainly. As if obeying it, she flipped a few pages to see photos of them in army uniform and civilian clothing, caption _somewhere in China, 1900_.

"They stopped preying on domestic political groups as soon as appropriate authorities were made to deal with them and inevitably sated their appetites abroad. In the cutthroat, shadowy world they inhabited, they cooperated with other secretive groups like the better-known Black Dragon Society, who can be their partners at one time and their rivals the next. They were active almost immediately after that, setting up criminal enterprises abroad in countries where Japanese immigration took them, both for profit and to spy the lands beyond their shores, just as they have done centuries before, and to learn its ways for their benefit. Establishing their criminal empire on drugs, gambling, and prostitution, they were perfectly in position to establish spy networks across the world. The annexation of Formosa, the Boxer Rebellion, the Russo-Japanese War, Korea, and more. They made inroads with revolutionaries across the world, especially in Asia where they supported Pan-Asianism with an eye for Japanese hegemony, only helping anyone as long as they were useful to them, whether they were idealist or warlord. They were against any sort of internationalism including communism, even come as far supporting Turan nationalism with Ataturk and black nationalism in the United States."

"Really?" That was the first time Tabane ever heard such a thing.

"Yes, I'm surprised," he replied. "I almost laughed at it, considering your attitude towards people of African descent nowadays." It was such bitter irony to him that Westernized, Confucian Japan was ever a real friend to the children of Africa, no doubt considering them little more than brutes. He always believed they let the European barbarians and the Arab slavers do the dirty work so they can establish their presence in the continent with minimal trouble, selling heavy equipment and electronics and putting their investments there. As long as those make a show of themselves, they can always keep a low profile. China is upsetting that blissful state of affairs for them. "They were deeply involved with Lenin alongside Imperial Germany, hoping to extract some concessions from the coming regime. As the situation deteriorated further Tsarist Russia, they were deeply involved in the Siberian Intervention, with shifting, quarreling factions that emerged from among the Red and White armies fighting for control over Siberia and some of the neighboring regions. They once backed up Baron Roman von Ungern Sternberg, the notorious warlord who ruled Mongolia before being ousted by the Soviets. Being anti-communists, they supported the White Russian exiles within Japanese-controlled territory up the end of the empire and tried to extend that support to their fellow exiles in Europe. It explained why the current head, Tatenashi, holds Russian citizenship."

"I see. Makes sense."

"The growth of their power roughly matches the country's rise from feudalism to modernism. In any case, they always believed that their fortunes are forever tied to Japan and fervently supported in their country's supremacy. Knowing that not everyone is aboard with their cause, they were violently against democracy and had been actively undermining the Taisho democracy of the '20s and were in the thick of political in-fighting during the 'government by assassination' of the 30s. And oh, let's not forget their conduct within the confines and frontiers of the empire."

Tabane turned page after page detailing the Sarashikis' conduct during the first half of the twentieth century. The pictures in the section covering activities in Korea, Taiwan, and Manchuria went from sober to horrible. Human rights abuses where plain to see for her such as the reprisals carried out against peasants of Korea and the abusive corvee system of forced labor. "The Sarashikis, outside of Japan itself, were most active in the Asian mainland. They were involved heavily in the turbulent situation in China, against the Koumintang, the warlords, the Communists, and the West. Of course they profited from it, including from their criminal enterprises, their investments in Japanese business and industry in Manchuria. Human trafficking and drugs benefited the Imperial Army and their Yakuza partners respectively. Of course they were girding themselves for the war the whole world was on a collision course on."

Tabane opened a page to see the photo of a newspaper's front page which the event that brought the United States into the war at last: the attack on Pearl Harbor.

"The apocalyptic showdown with West they've all been waiting for," he said gravely. "The one contest that decided the fate of their Empire and their dreams. After the attack and other simultaneous opening moves, the Sarashikis traveled with the army and their intelligence had aided it greatly in its victories. As always, for the emperor, land, and profit, like some holy trinity to them as they expected to gain big returns on the long term in the Greater Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere, which promised to emerge after they humbled the Americans from their quick victories."

She opened another page, in it contained the photo of the stricken _Akagi_ as photographed by the US Navy Devastators of VT-8.

"Then Midway happened... Followed by Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Saipan, Philippine Sea. As the tide turned, the more vicious they become, realizing that they were not divinely invincible as they once believed themselves to be, looting and killing like the rest of Imperial Japan stretched out across eastern Asia and the Pacific. They watched everything they had a hand in building crash and burn. The crisis was so pressing that the last true head of the Sarashiki family died of a stroke in after receiving news that Iwo Jima had fallen... He left no heir, not even a bastard and most of the family dead in battles across China, Southeast Asia, and the Pacific."

"I see." She faced him. "If no trueborn heir is left, then how and why they continued the family line, just in name?"

"These... 'retainers' made themselves Sarashiki from then on, and they took a page out of democracy they so despised and elected a head among themselves who will bear the title of Sarashiki. It was in honor of the last patriarch and to continue their mission of helping Japan ascend to their rightful place as a world power."

She turned a page to see a grave-looking army officer, resplendent in his uniform, medals on his chest. He spoke slowly, "The first one was a brigadier general of the Kwantung Army, Mitsuru Teito. He held the fractious 'family' together so they can chart their course in history. They were arguing what to do now that they were losing so much to the war, but being farsighted, Teito, went further along, much to the protests of the family that they should survive and accept capitulation. It almost tore them apart as they learned of the fall of Okinawa, everyone was at each other's throats. Only the pressing need to defend their country's remaining possessions kept a civil war from brewing within, by then it coalesced into two factions, the Bitterenders who prefer to face the coming Allied onslaught fighting and the Compromisers, who see the end for what it was and wished to continue the Sarashiki lineage. The atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki put a stop to their quarreling, the emperor's call for surrender was a splash of ice-cold water which woke them up to reality, and the Soviet invasion of Manchuria, Sakhalin, and Korea got them to notice the changes in the wind."

She reached the part of the file that covered the postwar era. In it were photos of the aftermath of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki raids, signing of the Japanese Instrument of Surrender aboard the _USS Missouri_ , General Douglas MacArthur meeting the Emperor, a devastated Tokyo, scenes from the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal. There also lesser known photos such as American GHQ officers discussing with their Imperial military counterparts. "The Sarashikis largely managed to escape the hangman's noose at Tokyo by doing what they do best, providing invaluable services to the Allies as the Cold War loomed over the horizon. They turned over first their small fly, then files on everything they had on Soviet Union and the Chinese Communists party. Along with the yakuza, they infiltrated leftists political circles and broke them. Their street fighters fought against the communists in broad daylight while their assassins killed off spies in their midsts. They intimidated those who foolish enough to try take Japan to a truly liberal democracy. They spied for the United States in China, Korea, and most of eastern Asia. They participated in many covert actions across Asia well into the 60's. The _Ourang Medan_ incident was theirs, directing over tons of Zyklon-B to be processed into hydrogen cyanide gas for the French to use covertly against the Vietminh. It never made it due to poor handling by its crew."

"No shit..." Tabane had never expected to see this dirty laundry list of acts committed by the Sarashikis nor did she envision the scope and scale to be this large.

"In for a pound, in for a penny they were, they secretly participated in the Second-Indochina War, especially in Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, cooperating again with the United States, Nationalist China, Thailand, and Burma, giving them a foothold in the heroin-growing regions of the Golden Triangle. They extended their reaches to Europe where they cooperated with rightwing groups such as ex-Nazis and former fascists; in Middle East where they tried to assist Egypt's rocketry program, staffed mainly by Germans from the V2 projects, by providing them support with their knowledge in biological weaponry. They intend use Ethipia as stopover to that effect but the Ethiopians refused to provide logistical support owing to their ties to Israel in the period, the Sarashikis retaliated by sabotaging Ethiopian Airlines Flight 372 but the Ethiopians refused to budge, choosing to alert the Israelis instead, forcing them to abandon their scheme. In Africa, they helped gain favorable concessions from the newly-independent African nations... for shipments of raw material to Japan." Their goddamn economic miracle benefited generously from Cold War politics and African blood. The pain he remembered even extended to the rest of his body as his arms, his legs, his chest, and back remembered the pain they bore during his time at the mine. His hands trembled as he remembered the cries, the screams, and the indignities heaped upon them by the guards. Those were things he could not forget.

Tabane had never really gave a damn about humanity before all of this. All the people she ever cared for where Cifuyu, Ichika, and Shinonono. She felt guilty about ruining her sister's shot at the national kendo championship. However, he never knew what was liked to lose a family. This man she was with had lost everything he held so dear. She scanned the rest of the folder while the man turned his back to sob quietly. The Sarashikis' activities throughout much of the twentieth century and into the twenty-first was hard to digest but this file was a damning criminal blotter containing all their handiwork and its accompanying repercussions. Flipping the pages, she read more of file.

1945 - Sarashiki head Mitsuru cooperates with Allied GHQ, turns over criminals who are no longer valuable to cause or take fall for them. Performed covert operations in China and Taiwan.

1946 - Gathering of Nakano school graduates, establishment of informal special operations school in violation of Article 9 of Postwar Japanese Constitution which renounces war as instrument of state policy. Covert assistance lent to Chiang Kai-shek against communist forces.

1947 - Harassment of liberal reformists and workers calling for unionization following proclamation of Truman Doctrine. Aid given to Indonesian nationalists fighting Dutch "police actions" in Indonesia. A Philippine Airlines C-47A with $5 million worth of Mexican gold and money, struck Mount Parker while approaching Hong Kong, killing all four crew. Sarashikis engineer theft which recovered most of the money from British authorities, then used in other operations. February 28 incident, the beggining of White Terror in Taiwan; Nationalist government crushes anti-government uprising in response to problems brought by strict yet inept government economic control, corruption, discriminatory practices against native Taiwanese by mainlander Chinese Koumintang officials, abusive behavior by Republic of China military. Sarashiki concurrently assists in crushing uprising by infiltrating political circles and establishing intelligence cells among populace to spy and when necessary undermine Koumintang.

1948 - Jeju Uprising, attempted insurgency in response to repressive anticommunist measures by South Korean police under the aegis of United States Army Military Government in Korea, occurs, atrocities committed by both sides, but police atrocities much more brutal, 14,000 to 30,000 (ten percent of island's population) died in massacres; 40,000 fled the island to Japan, Sarashiki forms teams of covert operatives out of them to watch South Korea in the future. Teigin poison case, twelve of sixteen employees the Tokyo branch of the Imperial Bank were poisoned to kill off known witnesses to amount and sources of Sarashikis' hidden financial assets, help given to bank robber who took 160,000 yen (worth $2000 at the time), Sadamichi Hirasawa framed; _Ourang Medan_ secretly contracted to ship poison material including mustard gas and Zyklon-B. Shipments diverted to French in Indo-China, mishandling of cargo leads to explosion and toxic fumes killing crew. Free agent in charge escaped but was murdered to cover up incident, December 1, 1948 (see TAMAM SHUD, file XR-67).

1949 - Establishment of covert monitoring stations close to the 38th parallel to cover radio traffic with Communist north; Sarashiki "soldiers" murder peace activist in Gifu. Mitaka Incident, Tokyo commuter train sabotaged, killing six and inuring twenty, done to discredit National Railway Workers' Union and Japanese Communist Party.

1950 - Korean War, covert operations against coastal targets in the North under the auspices of the Central Intelligence Agency and United States Navy. In Burma, Sarashiki liaison officers observed ethnic Muslim insurgency under Kuomintang command. Elimination of KGB-back spy circuits, bodies disposed in Aokigahara.

1953 - Tachikawa air disaster. Key Sarashiki lieutenant earned spurs by sabotaging No. 1 (outer left) engine of US Air Force Douglas C-124 Globemaster II belonging to 374th Troop Carrier Group. Work done so expertly that USAF investigators conclude it was accident.

1955 - bombing of Air India charter plane, _Kashmir Princess_ , logistical support to Kuomintang agents intent in assassinating Zhou Enlai. MV _Joyita_ disappearance, captain and crew of Joyita, forcibly boarded by Sarashiki intelligence trawler, all hands apprehended and killed on suspicion of monitoring trawler's activities. Hasty scuttling resulted in _Joyita_ remaining afloat until recovered in October 3, 1955.

1956 - Suez Crisis and suppression of Hungarian Revolution, Sarashikis send overtures of covert support to Gamel Nasser against the West and Israel; while at the East receive more backing from CIA and State Department. Hong Kong Riots, Sarashikis raise tensions between pro-Communist and pro-Nationalist factions in October 10, 1956 (Double Ten Day) to flash point.

1957 - National Airlines Flight 2511 bombing, operation aimed at assassinating defector from family. Dynamite placed in cargo hold.

1960 - Small group of people sent by Sarashikis, marking their entry in Kuomintang's China-Burma border campaign. From bases established in disputed territory, Sarashiki launch raids and patrols deep into PRC-controleld territory in Yunnan. Also began opium smuggling to finance operations.

1962 - LOT Vickers Viscount Warsaw crash, assassination of KGB agent who interfered opium-smuggling operations in the Far East, sabotage of Vickers Viscount 804 non-directional beacon with assistance from former SS men.

1963 - Planned bombing of yacht, _Phoenix of Hiroshima_ , in June 1963, scrapped due to political ramifications.

1964 - Brazilian coup d'etat. Participation with elements of exiled Nazis in Latin America and former Imperial army officers in mopping regime opponents. Congo Crisis exposes weaknesses based on Japan's dependence on natural resources extracted in politically "hot" regions, Sarashikis formulate Janus Protocol, where they concurrently support both insurgencies and regimes in the area to guarantee raw-materials security regardless of outcome, shifting support as needed. Largest partners, South Africa, Portuguese Colonial Empire, Rhodesia. CIA requests Sarashiki help and money in training and assisting Tibetan separatists in Nepal, Sarashikis comply, sending some of their personnel to secretly train with Italian Alpini and in Austria under ex-SS Gebirgsjager, arranged through Propaganda Due Masonic lodge.

1965-1966 Indonesia mass killings - Sarashiki participation in mass killing of members of the Indonesia Communist Party (PKI), especially in hunting down Japanese dissidents in hiding among them. Strengthened ties with Indonesian military.

1967 -Cyprus Airways Flight 284 bombing, operation performed to provoke both Greece and Turkey into war and raise tensions in the Middle East and Mediterranean.

1970 - Formed ties and joint venture with Skorzeny's Paladin Group. Active in Latin America but subverting American interests when opportunity arises.

Journalist Termination Order, began in 1970, orders given by Sarashiki "council" to kill all Japanese journalists in Cambodian theater of war on suspicion of investigating into family's Southeast Asian activities, as well as all colleagues and acquaintances in the immediate premises. List as follows:

Akira Kusaka and Yujiro Takagi of Fuji Television terminated along with Vietcong captors in Svay Rieng Province, April 6, 1970.  
Sean Flynn and Dana Stone were apprehended immediately after ambush in operational area on same day, held captive and interrogated before being turned over to Kmher Rouge, both die of violent death, Stone gang-raped by Khmer Rouge platoon before death.  
Takeshi Yanagisawa, Nippon Denpa, captured in Kampot Province, interrogated and executed, May 10, 1970  
Terro Nakajima, Omori Research, captured in Cambodia, region classified, interrogated and executed May 29, 1970.  
News team consisting of Roger Colne (French, NBC), Welles Hangen (American,NBC), Yoshiniko Waku (NBC), Tomoharo Ishii (CBS), Ramnik Lekhi (Indian, CBS), Gerry Miller (American, CBS), Kojiro Sakai (CBS), and George Syvertsen (American, CBS), killed in Takéo Province, Cambodia; Lekhi, Miller, and Syvertsen where killed by RPG fire; rest captured, interrogated and executed, May 31, 1970.  
Hiroo Wakabayashi, freelancer, kidnapped in hotel at Buôn Ma Thuột, Vietnam, confiscated notes containing evidence of Sarashiki involvement in Vietnam and broader Southeast Asian region, pursuing leads in missing journalists above, interrogated, held captive for year, executed.

1972 - MV Karagatan incident, Sarashikis attempt intercepting MV Karagatan, former Japanese fishing trawler Kishi Maru bought by China, carrying New People's Army crew and cargo of Chinese-made 1,200 M14 rifles, ordnance, and military grade equipment for Maoist insurgency group. Mission scrapped due to delays in logistical support and poor planning. Intention was to arm United Red Army and other leftist radical groups for false flag operation. Incident of minor importance.

1974 - Hashima Island acquired from Mitsubishi Corporation as it closes coal mines due to declining domestic coal demand. Used as training center and headquarters for domestic and regional operations.

1975 - Balibo Five, Sarashikis fed intelligence of Australian journalists covering the invasion of East Timor by Indonesian military. All five killed.

"The provisions of the Alaska Treaty, the ones where Japan has to shoulder the costs of the Infinite Stratos Academy, was the Sarashikis' doing, designed to fan the flames of xenophobic nationalism among your countrymen. They made sure to shut down the proposal of the Academy to be located in Brussels, Belgium and for training facilities in eastern Germany and Austria, and that it relieved funding from NATO, ASEAN, AU, and the CIS."

"They're like supervillains from a James Bond film," Tabane noted. "If they were so good at spying, corruption, assassination, and terrorism, how come we never became that powerful? Why aren't we calling the shots?"

"Newton's Third Law states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction." He wiped his eyes. "Phantom Task. Us."

* * *

A/N: Much of the activities mentioned are true such as the disappearances of Sean Flynn and Dana Stone, the death of the journalists, and the aircraft incidents. Seeing especially the journalists' deaths really got me thinking about how they'd fare in the IS universe. If any of you haven't noticed, the chapter title is based on one of the taglines of _Metal Gear solid V: The Phantom Pain_ (From FOX, two phantoms were born).

My rant: Why do I dislike the Sarashikis? Several things. For one the Sarashiki family reminds me of the nationalist secret societies prevalent in Japanese and Asian politics during the late 19th century and the first half of the 20th century such the Black Dragon Society and the Imperial Way Faction. The goal of secret societies is to serve their ideology by influencing society and politics through a variety of means. This often include means in contravention of the laws of the land. Furthermore, most secret societies tend to be informal groups, possessing a loose but definite hierarchy and membership is usually by invitation, often after potential inductees are recommended and then vetted. In that respect they are not so different from criminal syndicates, and as in real life, Japanese secret societies use crime in their operations.

Secret societies are staples in Japanese anime, manga, and videogames and they can either be heroic or villainous. Secret societies and similar such bodies are not like governments agencies, who are subject to checks and balances. In most Japanese works oriented in action, intrigue, and many others, the government is not seen in a favorable light, owing to government actions in the Second World War. This is ironic as private corporations prefer government civil servants in key positions in their firms in a practice called _Amakudari_ (descent from heaven). Politicians are not portrayed in a positive light as well, owing to historical corruption and lack of transparency in government that in some cases persist even today. Another irony is that Imperial Japan historically allied with their homegrown secret societies in order to conduct covert operations aboard. They were given a blank check to do anything. Secret societies are not held responsible and accountable for their actions, they are effectively a law unto themselves and are beyond reproach except for any partner who they answer to and even then, they maintain their independence of action.

They remind of the power brokers or kingmakers that were prevalent in Japanese politics. In Japan, power brokers are politicians, usually former prime ministers turned party bosses, who wield an enormous amount of influence and they can sell that influence to up-and-comers in the political world. They can support candidates whose policies they have an interest in or if a favor can be extracted in return. That and the fact that as they hold no political office of their own gives them a lot of independence. This allows them to make or break anyone who ascends to power. Examples of these are Shin Kanemaru, Kakuei Tanaka, and Ichiro Ozawa. Because of this, they are seldom held accountable to any damage they've done.

It's easy to blame the government and politicians and sometimes the bureaucrats but it's not easy to portray to blame the larger establishment which occurred in it. Sure, more cynical works in Japan portray this and that no matter what such informal institutions cannot be swayed. Why is it any character whose family background is either of samurai or private corporation in origin and they are often presented in a favorable light? They are part of the establishment and they are not subject to the scrutiny that government and politicians are subject to. And one has to remember that the establishment holds the purse strings of the entertainment industry. Also, unlike the West and other countries where freer social mobility allows, among other things, people of the entertainment industry to advocate and participate in politics, Japan still retains much of its old caste system which lives on in spirit. Any of your favorite voice actors advocating a cause or throwing their support for something?

I also dislike them because of an insufferable trope I found prevalent in Japanese works. I call it _pure Japan_ , or _Japan can do no wrong_ , or _Rising Sun, Malice Towards None_ in works placing Japan in action, often against the outside world. This is not surprising as anime and manga and videogames were made for domestic consumption. This trope's premise is that Japanese are many steps ahead of everyone else in the world, that they are chaste in thought and in deed and that their ancient culture is a shining example of sophistication around the world, etc. The implication that they are above the rest of us, beyond things like bigotry, racism, class conflict, crime and many others, and that they should be held as shining example we have to follow. Such messianic complex in national narrative is commonplace such as America's Manifest Destiny, Pax Britannica, and Soviet Russia's assumption of leadership in the communist world. The other implications are that because of their culture and their perception of things, they cannot be held to the standards applied to others. If the villains are Japanese, chances are they are extremists who are pursuing a higher goal and that the unpleasant things they do are for the betterment of whatever they are fighting for as a whole. In short, WE should cut them some slack. Yet at the same time they judge us, the rest of the world, by theirs. This usually both subtle and sometimes when blatant, flies over our heads.

This ticks me off because a surprising number of works from the same country say otherwise, being brutally honest with the fact they, as a people, are NOT above like the rest of us though this is sometimes treated with ambivalence, sometimes it's commonplace and nothing can be done about it. It is not that I hate Japan, or its people, or their works. It's maybe because I'd want to believe that Japanese are as human as the rest of us, are susceptible to those flaws. Some of them are racism, sexism, and classicism. Perhaps what I want with a Japanese character is one that gets over himself/herself and the myths they were told about, that he suffers with the grunts in the foxhole, shares their troubles, identifies with them authentically, say with British coal miners, and ultimately triumphs with them, truly displaying the best of humanity, something that no amount of saccharine, long-winded interior monologue of reflection with flowery words, relaxing evocative music and sakura-tinge scenery can do justice to (not a problem with me if done right).

Which leads me to another me another thing I noticed: underdogs and outcasts supporting the establishment and status quo. I don't know about you but I get the feeling in most of their works, the people put down by the rest of society end up reinforcing it. I remember that it is a practice of old Japanese families to adopt orphan sons when no male heir is available. Perhaps Japanese do not entirely disparage the odds and ends at the bottom of the social ladder, or as the Game of Thrones S1E4 is titled, "Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things" are very much useful and if they have proven themselves are allowed to go up the ladder and revitalize (note: replenish; implication, not change) society. It is to my taste that the oppressed, the downtrodden, should not find accommodation with the oppressor, the "betters", or give accommodation to them though peaceful change is a choice they can make. Anime and manga as whole does not share my view though a few individual works have went with it. Why do I want with this? I think my happy ending for such characters is that they make and return a more equitable world than the one they left, that the uppers sit up and notice that things are changing and that they may not survive it. But that could be me who wants heroes from the bottom to prove themselves to society as a whole, not just to champion their kind, and most certainly for me not to ingratiate themselves to others but to give them the proverbial middle-finger to them, to remind them that it was the "Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things" that saved the day and not the White Knights that they expect to ride dramatically to turn the tide. Wars were won and lost not by the generals and the politicos but by the dirty men in the foxholes and women in the factories. The betters simply exploit their efforts and if they lose, it's the proles who end up footing the bill.

Thus concludes my rant.


	6. The Few

**From WAR, Two Phantoms Were Born**

 **Part II: The Few**

A/N: This is the second Phantom chapter, focusing on the roots of Phantom Task. I based them on a secret society called Grey Wings from a forgotten gem of a PlayStation 2 game _Cold Winter_. It had a wonderful story penned by esteemed British comic writer Warren Ellis of _Transmetropolitan_ fame. My longest chapter yet. Tell me what you think and don't act like Matthew.

* * *

The sky remained an alien gray but the cold was now unbearable. The intense fighting upstairs had drawn into a stalemate but it was no lull. Instead it was a proverbial brawl as both sides attempt to force the other capitulate, otherwise destroy them. Yet for all the dash and flair of the Infinite Stratos systems locked in combat, it was still a war for the grunts on the ground and in the air. Thousands of them, United Nations and Phantom Task, out in the snow and cold, slogging against each other in scenes that were all too familiar to all of them as infantry, fighting and shooting, backed up by armor and artillery, aircraft, the mighty flying steads in the second half of the twentieth century, the very things that the IS were supposed to render obsolete, irrelevant to the future of warfare fighting in one of the most inhospitable regions of the planet.

On the ground and in the air they played their roles to the fullest, just as their ancestors have done for millennia, when they made clubs, spears, axes, bows and arrows out of wood and bone, rock and sinew, and went against each other for anything such as a favorable pasture or hunting ground, anything they believed they needed to survive and cannot get unless the other fellow is out of the way.

This drama continued to play out in human history, the formula the same regardless of the context, or the tools, or the script being laid, for the last was always irrelevant, war was a stage play for which improvisation was encouraged all throughout, the more dramatic the performance the more it woes the audience. Who watched from the heavens looking down coldly on the desperate little creatures who fight over the rock they call home. The actors who survive will preserve those memories for the next generation to read. Who will read to their pleasure whatever it may be.

This drama was a complex mosaic made up of millions of interconnected, little dramas such as the one between Tabane and Temedu as the grand performance can only truly be alive once the little dramas play out concurrently, otherwise it would have been a stilted, pretentious affair.

"It's getting cold in here," Temedu said, feeling the nip of the cold. He did not have time to procure cold weather when the shit hit the fan.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," Tabane agreed as she handed back the file. She's even worse off in terms of protective clothing, just a woolen shawl and no boots to keep the cold away. Then an earsplitting bang occurred above as an orange fireball bloomed violently above.

"INCOMING!" he screamed and they took off to their feet as large pieces of ice and concrete rained down on them. A cacophony of explosions and cracking of large ceiling pieces followed as they shot for cover. Each large piece crashed closer behind them, threatening to overtake them. The fight-or-flight instinct took over their minds and choose the latter, seeing that fighting falling rubble with fists is flight of fancy in fighting anime. They have nothing else to think as they made their way for another part of the tunnel complex, holding a room that seemed like salvation. On the balls of their feet they dashed forward, screaming as they covered the last ten meters in a flash and diving for cover into the room.

Face forward on the floor, they coughed away the dust in their lungs and forced themselves up and rolled to their backs, panting in relief of having narrowly escaped being crushed to death.

"Damn bunker busters," muttered Temedu. He turned to the scientist.

"I think I'm fine..." she answered as she sat up, bones creaking. She took a breath of fresh air. "Man, that was intense!"

"You can say that again." The black man sat as well, brushing the dust away from himself with his hands. "Closest thing was Algeria, when we sabotaged the French aircraft carrier _Alexis de Tocqueville_ while on call in the newly-constructed port at El Hamdania." The _Alexis de Tocqueville_ was the PA 2 that was intended to replaced the _Charles de Gaulle_ in the previous decade. It was much larger and at 75,000 tonnes it is in the weight class of the former Soviet Navy's _Ulyanovsk_.

"How was it intense?" she asked.

"Oh, you know, the usual," he replied nonchalantly. "Us sneaking in, Trojan Horse, came in and out guns blazing, blasting the shit out its innards, killing the charming and dastardly villain and his thuggish minions, and roaring into the sunset with angry patrol boats on our tail, escaping just in time for champagne."

Tabane chuckled at the Jame Bond/Rambo imagery. "Really?" Her tone had flippant humor.

Temedu savored his own joke before frowning. "No, it wasn't. Nothing like that." His voice went sober. "We infiltrated the ship a la Trojan horse. It took us twelve nerve-wracking hours tampering with equipment and facilities, with the aircraft and ammo elevators, radar and such without being detected. And we left just in time as the ship was about to leave. We only realized our work was done when news of a massive explosion and fire crippled the ship as she was patrolling near Turkish waters, killing two hundred and sixty aboard, and forcing it to spend twenty months in port for repairs. A lot of Francophobic Algerians cheered widely as the day the French ship docked for a visit was the anniversary of a nationalist demonstration where they unfurled the Algerian flag in May 8, 1945, which was banned by the French when the country was part of its empire. And it was named after Alexis de Tocqueville, the father of Western liberalism and a chief advocate of the brutal colonization of Algeria, which become the model of Western empire building on the continent." He walked over to an electric warmer and plugged it, turning it on. He sat down to warm himself.

Tabane followed suit. "How you'd take it?"

"What do you mean?" He looked up as he raised the heat

"Your mission accomplished." She sat end opposite of him.

He sighed. "To tell you the truth, it was complicated. I wasn't raised a violent man. I really did not enjoy killing more than two hundred people who were just in it to serve their country, see the world, and live a good life. But at the same... I had this odd satisfaction, being able to strike a blow at those who pulled the strings across the world, in the case then was France, who continues to influence the continent in their old empire to serve her needs and ends at our expense." He clenched his hands as he recalled his lost village. "Tocqueville was an aristocrat, an arrogant, lingering legacy that belied liberty, fraternity, and equality." He spat, " Fuck the French."

"So... tell me about Phantom Task?" Tabane asked.

"Phantom Task?" His eyes gazed upon the warmer in its blue-white glow. "Phantom Task began as a concept, a ray of hope in the ashes of the global conflagration known as World War II. One man saw the desolation of war and wanted to do something about it. I'll tell you a story because no amount of detailing of deeds can do justice at the foundation of Phantom Task."

* * *

 _There was once a boy who lived in Japan, in the city of Osaka. He was a hardworking boy, who keep to his chores and studies, to his family and school. He was a deeply-sensitive soul, intelligent, and a warmth that can melt the icicles in the eaves of his home in the spring. He lived in a time of high tension between old and new, liberalism and conservatism, communism and capitalism, fascism and democracy, nationalism and internationalism, and brutality and compassion._

 _He was never a healthy youth, having suffered several diseases in the course of his young life. He had survived but his body was left weak. He was disparaged by others for his lack of strength, a weak boy is of little use to his country and people, they say, as he cannot bear arms to go to war. They say it because whenever stronger, more stupid boys demanded him to do their homework, even if his grades suffer. The drill sergeant at his school was no less tolerant, making him do all the crap jobs after the big strong boys have finished drilling. But it mattered little to him. His mother called him a miracle and his father had him have the best doctors available as much as the family finances allow. He was a miracle not because his family was rich but because no one could have survived the plurality of diseases that attacked him: tuberculosis, measles, chickenpox, pneumonia. Who else can claim to survive all of those in their formative years?_

Scrub, scrub, scrub. The brush made suds as the boy the went down on all fours, cleaning the drill hall of the high school he was in, removing the tracks of mud and dirt left behind by the other boys of the school's military contingent. Sweat formed on his face as he struggled hard to remove the stains. The only thing in his mind, which urged him on to hasten his task, was home, his family, his studies, especially his precious books.

And he was the only one in that wide hall as his scrubbing echoed loudly. The once who were assigned to clean the hall for the day never came, instead heaping the task on him for protesting having to do their schoolwork as he told him his father was irked by his falling grades. They beat him up for it and they made up a story to the drill sergeant about him refusing to obey them. The big, burly veteran of China and Siberia would not care any less. He was a weak little coward in his eyes, a shirker who could not serve his Emperor as divinely ordained from heaven, most likely a punishment from above for his father's moneymaking. The fat man hoped that these menial tasks put some backbone on his petty merchant's son, or waste him away, he cared none for useless weaklings either way.

While he toiled in his lonely, thankless task, accompanied only by him brushing the dirty floor, he heard the door open.

"Who's there!?" he called out. He could only take so much abuse for a day. All he wanted was to go home, return to his warm house with his parents, eat a warm meal cooked by his mother, and read his books. He shuddered as he feared yet another scrapping by his tormentors. Oh how he wanted it to end, he wanted it to stop but his father could not sway the wishes of his very patriotic family and friends.

"Karasu, is that you?" a girl's voice called out. His heart sank in relief. It was just Megumi. This girl, the daughter of a textile magnate, seemed to be the few people in school who actually cared about him. She came in and closed the door behind her. She approached him, her steps loudly echoing in the hall. "What are you still doing here? Aren't you supposed to be home?"

He was shocked to see the footprints made on the still-wet floor by Megumi. "Megumi! Don't walk on the floor, I just cleaned it."

She looked down to see her prints on the floor in her wake. She gasped and clasped her mouth for error. The boy collapsed on the floor and despaired as it meant he'll have to clean that section of the floor again. And that's if the fat bastard doesn't come back here at all.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she apologized as she took off her shoes and approached him on bare feet. She bent on his prone figure.

"It's alright," he assured her. "I volunteered for this." He lied. He did not want to appear weak to this girl. To spill out one's troubles to anybody is a sign of weakness, said the sergeant. A real man keeps them to himself.

"But you're stuck here and your family must be worried." She knew he was lying and why. She knew all about his troubles. The poor boy had to take all the abuse heaped upon him in school and in the streets. He did not deserve any of that. This boy was more worthy of her attention than all his oppressors, most of whom her family picked up as possible prospects for her in the future.

"I can do this, I can," he protested feebly.

"No, you need help," she pointed out, persistent. "Here, I'll help you." She rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and bent down to take a rag.

"No! Don't, please! If the sergeant come's back, we'll be in trouble!" He was shocked to see the girl of one of the city's better-off helping him. What's more, her charity will get both of them in trouble, fearing what happens if they're caught together. She'll bring shame to her family while he will be sent to an even deeper hell.

"I don't think so," she replied with a knowing smile.

"But they might think w-we-we had done it!" Sweat increased on his body as his situation seemed to turn for the worse.

"No, I think he visited that cafeteria lady." Megumi then whispered. "I think he might be _doing_ what you mean to her."

The boy's face was scandalized further. She already knew of the secret things done between men and women? How can someone so proper know of something so vulgar?

"Don't worry, I'm not that kind of girl. And furthermore, I don't like seeing you suffering like this. I want to help, you don't need to suffer their abuse." She started wiping the floor. He was stunned by her compassion and will. He had never asked a girl out nor had any real interest in them. His was always his books and that was enough for him.

Megumi turned back to see him. "Don't just look at me like that. If we clean together, you might go home and hopefully, the sergeant won't catch us."

Nodding in agreement, both of them cleaned the drill hall floor and finished just in time. It was late in the day and they both went home together until they separate paths. It was the greatest day of his life. He looked forward to meeting her again. This willful, yet sweet girl had captured his imagination. This relationship blossomed into love and they both vowed one day to marry and start a family, away from all the hustle-and-bustle of city life.

* * *

 _The boy had the first real bright spot in his life. The girl had given him hope in his suffering during those terrible teen years. Political upheavals, the increasing tensions with the West, the military intrigues, the path to war, none of that bothered him as only his books and Megumi occupied his deepest thoughts. Soon, she loomed over that too._

 _1937\. The call for conscription came and was left behind due to his weak health. Instead, he was assigned a clerkship in some government agency. He knew only the glory of his country and none of its terrible sins, but as the war grew longer and more desperate. Daily bombing drills, curfews, censorship, rationing, demonstrations and rallies in support of the troops, people leaving for the countryside and the silent hand of the secret police, marked his existence. Yet, he was unbothered as he never had to serve in the front lines, just doing his bit for his country in his current capacity was enough. Yet misgivings had bloomed, ones about why they have to go to war. Things are bad enough without having to pick a fight with others? Why not just talk it over? Those thoughts had been with him since his teen years, not ever partaking to the rallies and demonstrations due to his frail nature. They can't be serious, right?_

 _Yet, he came to notice the growing squalor around him as rationing became more severe. Then the unthinkable happened: the first B-29 raids coming in from the Marianas, raining death. In spite all the preparations nothing steeled him for the horror that came. People burned in their homes, people out on the streets in despair, people trying to fight the fires in what proved to be a largely useless effort. The curfews were enforced even more, the production lines struggled to keep up and the shortages were becoming critical as days go by. Those he cannot ignore. He worried night and day about Megumi and the terror added to the tension of his existence. The propaganda became more desperate, fantastical, apocalyptic. There were people dying, he knew. If not around him, then somewhere else. He knew everything preached by the government, by the military was starting to sound like lies. And the whispers, the whispers of the truth where filtering back. Lost battles, horrendous casualties, to say nothing of the secret police who will not tolerate such subversive defeatism._

 _He heard of horrors committed by their armies against the peoples who they called their Asian brothers. Yet, he can't believe them. Wasn't it the West who commit such deeds? Didn't the propaganda get it right?_

 _By then, things were becoming desperate. Men were recruited, to pledge their lives to die for their country. The Kamikaze was formed, a divine wind of steel and flesh, sent to die by slamming themselves against American warships. These desperate suicidal mindset spread throughout the country as the bombing raids intensified, the supplies dwindling slowly, and the army teaching even children to fight, with spears of bamboo, kitchen knives, crude grenades made of pottery. He worried about Megumi, now serving as a nurse, tending to the victims of the raids. By then Okinawa had fallen and everyone braced for the end - for the coming of the hated Gaijin and his ravenous thirst for blood to visit war upon the islands. They waited and waited... desperately... The fear and anticipation out them from inside as the bombers kept pounding._

 _Then it came..._

* * *

In 8:15 a B-29 named for a Mrs. Enola Gay Tibbets of Miami, Florida appeared over the city of Hiroshima. It carried aboard a gun-type fission device set to airburst at 1900 feet, fired by a bullet fashioned from Uranium 235.

Its codename Little Boy.

The second sunrise came, the firestorm, and the black rain that came after. The death of an empire and the beginning of the atomic age. Of the arms race.

The leaders at first where perplexed. They did not believe one bomb can be capable of such destructive power. And because of their vanity, their haughty sense of honor, they opt for Ragnarok instead.

So in order to convince them, their people must suffer again. The punishment to be delivered by _Bockscar_ , its was a plutonium device, Fat Man. It was ignited by implosion. Nagasaki was to accept the fury for what was meant for Kokura. The terrible pattern repeated again but this time, no firestorm. Instead, a malignant cancer appeared to those who survived, those were to mark as Hibakusha. The terrible ailments had convinced them of the horrid power of the United States has wielded. They looked east and saw the bear ready for depredation, hungering for vengeance over its chastisement in 1905. The change in the wind had come.

Japan surrendered.

* * *

 _The country was in chaos. Her cities in ruin. Her people in squalor, millions dead and more dying from malnourishment and disease. Her armies and fleets broken, scattered like dry bones across Asia. The victorious Allies dictated their terms. They accepted it as they realized they couldn't fight their fates. The sting of defeat was lessened by the terms dictated as the Allies were magnanimous towards their foe, one who fought a vicious savage war._

 _The landscape was bleak as people walked around, as though emerging from a frightful dream. They could not believe their eyes as they watched American troops marching in, their own marching towards them - to surrender. Many cannot believe but at the same time they were glad it was over. Still, they feared the worst as they watched their conquerors settle themselves in. The occupation had began._

* * *

He was on a bus, the first service in several weeks after the end. By then, he was used to seeing American troops by now. They weren't the ogres they feared would set foot upon the country. They helped the country back on its feet and the streets were bustling back to life again. He can see buildings being constructed to repair the damage wrought by the last years of the war.

He had to apply his papers before he can work on his father-in-law's factory. Well, future father-in-law. Megumi's father was kind to him and he needed a good man to manage the textile factory. It was hard for him to imagine the war had happened a few weeks ago - and that it ended at all. He was afraid for Megumi as they waited for the invasion but now he was glad to know she was still alive. Karasu was also thankful to be part of the rebuilding of the country. Her father was not a profiteer who sucked the life out of the weak but true pillar of the community. The factory benefited from American aid and contracts. It gave provided jobs that filled pockets and tables. It provide clothing people will need in the coming winter. In time, he hoped to raise enough money for college and a house for him and Megumi.

It was rather perplexing him to him that a powerful bomb would end the war. But the Americans had done that, just as they were able to summon vast armies from across the sea. His leaders say they can defeat the Americans as they were decadent sloths, barbarians only fit to be thrown away. Honestly, he could not see the difference between them and the leaders in terms of conduct. The bloodbath from less than ten years ago was evident of that. The bullying in school was something he remembered. The Americans here were a lot nicer, albeit reminding him of little children going to the zoo for the first time.

The bus stopped and he got off, deciding to walk the rest of his way. Walking, he noticed some soldiers standing guard and slinging their rifles. Those soldiers guarding the intersection don't look American. They hardly do. They were short, had slanted eyes like himself but dark skinned. They wore what look like fedoras. They had calm expression, as though as police duty was something they do everyday, not like the Americans who wore an slightly tense gaze and an alternatively outwardly bored expression as they did such duty.

He also notice instead of batons, they have some sort of knife in their belts. He gulped. It reminded him of the katanas wielded by officers of the old Imperial Army. He have heard of stories how they killed off Chinese soldiers like flies with those. The last thing he wanted to do was to provoke the men guarding into using their curved knives.

"Are you alright, sir?" one of them asked, his voice soft and English perfect in spite of his accent.

He looked at him and he realized that one of dark-skinned short men, the center one, was speaking to him. "Uh..." He did not how to answer in spite of his perfect English.

"Are you lost?" asked the soldier.

"Uh, no," he replied. "I was just on my way to the textile factory." And he did not know why but he added, "You look different from the other soldiers here."

The soldier looked curiously at him. "How so?"

"You're not American, or British."

His sleepy expression returned. "We are not but we served under the British. We are Gurkhas, from the land of Nepal. It is north of India."

"Must be a long way from home," he noted, never having heard of Nepal. "It's probably strange to be here."

"It is strange here indeed," agreed the Gurkha. "But it is not strange to be here."

The answer perplexed Karasu. "What makes you say that?"

The Gurkha looked calmly at him. "You brought us here."

 _The Gurkha calmly explained to him the horrors of the war in Southeast Asia, from the brutal jungle fighting in under the blistering sun and cold, wet rain, to the atrocities committed in its wake. Prisoners and civilians were not spared. Karasu listened to it in increasing horror and disbelief - he never really believed the brutality of the war will go that far._

 _And about Phantom Task._

 _In due time, Tabane._

He dazed as he listened to the Gurkha. Yet, it felt strange that he did not accuse him in anyway throughout. For some reason, these strange soldiers, especially the one he talked to was a harbinger of something he cannot point his finger on, yet deep inside he knew it.

"Would you like some assistance, sir?" asked the Gurkha.

"No, no, thank you anyway." He bowed and quickly left.

"You're welcome and good luck to you, sir." He just kept walking and walking, anything to put a distance between him and the strange soldiers from Nepal. He needed to work as he felt ill at ease with the revelations he had said.

He paused to take a breath, listening to the thuds of conflict from above, realizing that the UN was slowly but surely making headway now. "Karasu worked dilligently as he always did, working in the textile factory that in a translation error was called Ruined Country Weaving Industry. Yet, he had seen demonstrations and street fights, had bore witness to crime and corruption in ways both forward and subtle."

"Like the Sarashikis?" Tabane drew closer to the warmer. It was a miracle, she noted, that the power was still on.

"Yes, and more. One time, he saw a war criminal who was acquitted by the War Crimes Tribunal dining with American officers, likely the intelligence kind. The Yakuza made money from the black market and intimidating workers who have the temerity to ask for better conditions. He knew of..." He cleared his throat as he tried to say it. He never had a real infatuation with women, much like Karasu, the founder of Phantom Task. He did not know how to tell this topic to a woman who, in spite of his effort to egg himself on, was less and less his enemy than before. "Medical prostitution..."

Tabane's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I know. Doctors pimping desperate young women to GIs after the war, for medical reasons they say." She scoffed ."I'm a woman too. I know what exploitation feels like though not _that_ kind. Country's patriarchy will come up all kinds of bullshit to get their pleasures."

"Indeed." He stifled a sneeze. The cold must be getting through, he thought. Lots of holes being poked already. "Now where where we...?"

"Karasu," Tabane reminded him.

"Ah, yes. Karasu. Much as he tried, he cannot ignore the rot around him yet can't do anything about either. Then Megumi died. Tram she rode rammed into a bus, went out of control. He grieved the lose of the one thing thing he cared the most, the one thing that mattered in the world. The grief never left him, even as he worked at the factory and crammed himself to college, earning high marks. Then Megumi's father died, injuries caused by LeMay's raids sapping him of his health. With no living relatives left, Karasu became the owner of the factory which modestly expanded.

"He also became acquainted with the larger world and its ever-volatile nature. He went out with radicals from his college days and during a trip to buy raw cotton from India, he attended the Conference of Youth and Students of Southeast Asia Fighting for Freedom and Independence. It increased his interest in politics, especially of pacifism and internationalism. At home was a supporter of liberal causes and active social involvement such as helping atomic bomb survivors rehabilitate. And in 1949, he was invited by a German socialist to a conference in Switzerland. It was there that the seeds of Phantom Task was born."

"So, Phantom Task was born in Switzerland?"

"Not quite but this secret conference, called together by a high-ranking and heavily-decorated officer of the Royal Air Force, intimate to him the secrets of the atomic bombs and the nations that wield it, its implications, the ideological geopolitical conflict that was to be the Cold War, the realigning of the balance of power as empires made way for new nations, and how it will affect the future. The German acquainted to him of how his country would be divided by an iron curtain, of the toll the previous war had taken on them, and a precedent in the form of the Thirty Years War, which left Germany utterly devastated by in the 17th century and of the dirty secret of the Allies: Nazis, many of them war criminals, were secretly pardoned to work with the West. The butchers of peoples, looters of countries, madmen with dreams of a superior race, were allowed to go scot-free if they have something of value.

"It was revolting to him. But he was not convinced to take their side. He still believed in peace, in civility.

"1950s. Korea. The anti-communist hysteria fanned by Senator Joseph McCarthy. East-West tensions. Indo-China. He was to become more active, supporting the the Japanese Socialist Party. As consequence he was harassed by Yakuza, right-wingers and the police. Contracts dried but it did not deter him. His attendance at the first Asian Socialist Conference, first held in Rangoon in January 6-15, 1953. It reaffirmed his commitment to peace and liberty. Yet, people at home did not share his liberalism.

"The factory was burned down mysteriously while he was in attendance in during a stormy session over the 1956 Suez Crisis and of whether the Israeli party Mapai was to remain a member of ASC. He left the conference and flew back as soon as he could but he was only greeted at the airport by gunpoint, pushed into a car, beaten and stabbed before being thrown into Tokyo Bay. He was saved by fishermen and was nursed back to health in secret. As soon as he can walk on his feet, much of his old life was destroyed, left in cinders. All he had helped build gone, he was left a self-destructive drunk until in eearly 1961 he was found in jail after a bar brawl, visited none other than the RAF officer. He befriended him and revealed to him off the people who were responsible for his fall from grace: the Sarashikis. And he also revealed to him of his plan for a truly better world."

"How will they do that?" she asked.

Temedu pulled out an old-fashion tape player from his pocket. He inserted a tape that said THE FEW. He played the tape player.

In its scratchy-sounding audio began a voice in a British accent, "Humanity has recovered miraculously from the war and has advanced at an astonishing rate. Space exploration, jet travel, the polio vaccine. Yet, we persist in our self-destructive ways. In the wake of the atomic testings in New Mexico and Bikini Atoll, the world sits on a power keg once again. Nuclear weapons are widely available to the United States and the Soviet Union. This prevents them from waging war itself and in its stead a chess game using the countries in between. The evidence is clear: they will not survive World War III. They will not have the luxury of imparting their wisdom to the world as everyone will already be dead. Their warnings will fall on as national interests and paranoia takes precedence over the bigger picture: a united humanity in effort for a better future, to reach out to the stars."

Another voice came out. "I've heard of Sputnik. People have been saying the Soviets have been out to destroy the world and Sputnik's the latest in the line of attempts in that goal. But they put Yuri Gagarin in space and he was not lying about he saw up there."

"Indeed, such is an example of human endeavor achieving what was thought to be impossible but those efforts are subordinated to earth-bound parochial interest. More must be needed if the world has to change for the better."

"But how? We're more interested in killing and lording over each other than that."

"It's not perfect but we need to do something. We need to set up a phantom task force whose duty is keep the balance of power from being altered in the favor of one group, be it a nation of some secretive cabal and to steer others in the right direction. The belligerents in this shadow conflict is to put it simply, us and everyone."

"That, I already understood."

"I know that. But you were once a committed pacifist and reformer. I only need to tell you so you can think about it thoroughly."

"I already thought it through... In that bed where I lay after being in near-death, after I was beaten and stabbed to pulp by those hired thugs. While I tried to hide from my despair with alcohol. I've had my doubts about this but now I know: I want in."

"Ah... Very well. Rest for now. We will go to London tomorrow afternoon. This will be a long hard struggle but I'm confident we will win."

He stopped the player. "That he made good. He soon was running a small group and he made his bones by performing a feat of audacity and resourcefulness in long-distance planning and execution: March 16, 1962, Flying Tiger Flight 739, operating under USAF Military Air Transport Service charter carried eleven civilian crew and ninety-six military passengers: ninety-three Ranger-trained Army communication specialists sent to relieve personnel training Army of the Republic of Vietnam troops against the Vietcong and three ARVN officers, one of them is actually senior lieutenant of Sarashiki family covered as one of them. Sabotage done at Andersen Airforce Base; all hands died aboard en route to Clarke Air Force Base.

"He lead the branch of this phantom task force here in the Asia-Pacific region, fighting this shadow war. During the student protests of 1968, that malignant 'family' was once again set to snatch, torture, and bury the young men and women who protested against the Americans in Japan for Vietnam, he lead the pre-preemptive strike against them, using the very methods they used against their opponents: overt terror, silent murder, subversion, and black mail. He would fight this shadow war with distinction. Against the Sarashikis, against the CIA and KGB, against the pro-American dictatorships in South America and Asia, practically anyone who stood in their way of achieving their dream of a united humanity undivided by petty interests. It took a toll on him, becoming every bit as ruthless as his enemies, especially against the Sarashikis, who robbed him of his life. He cared not for the lives lost or left permanently altered in order to reach his goal.

"We had our triumphs: the Sarashikis were deprived of their chance to wield power in Japan during the 80's; we broke the back of Propaganda Due in Italy, otherwise they would have been posed to manipulate post-Cold War Europe; kept them from helping Colombian drug king Pablo Escobar from funding a civil war in Haiti. We prevented a rice blight plague in China and a war in the Korean peninsula from breaking out after the fall of the Soviet Union, we stopped poisoned shipments of food aid to the Philippines stricken by the Pinatubo eruption and prevented their agents from destabilizing the government. We kept their mercenaries out of Somalia and prevented them from delivering poison gas to warlord Mohamed Farrah Hassan Aidid, which would have turned the Black Hawk Down fiasco into something much worse.

"But we had our losses too - and our moments of darkness. The 1991 uprisings in Iraq were a failure as the Saudis and Turks denied us logistical support. They fear losing their power too. Pakistan ousted us for our assistance in Ahmad Shah Massoud's Northern Alliance and keeping us from destroying Gulbuddin Hekmatyar's fundamentalists, which lead to 9/11. Thailand was pressured to cut off their tender with us, allowing the junta of Myanmar to sweep us off the board in 90s and protecting the Sarashikis' drug profits. We encouraged the Algerian FIS to rebel against the government but we lost control of them. We've failed dismally at Libya as well as Qaddafi switched allegiances and called for Sarashiki assistance. We've done our share of buried bodies and ruined lives.

"Eventually Karasu took leadership of what is today Phantom Task at the moment the war became a stalemate. The War on Terror erupted and he lead Phantom Task with the same strategical mind, cunning, and rock-hard resolve which he since he started. We were both evenly matched. But the Sarashikis can afford the attrition, they have the ears of governments and organizations worldwide. Eventually, we whittled away little by little, our cause an ever distant pipe dream as the balance shifted against us. We thought we would lose and we were forced deeper underground once again.

"Until you brought to the world the Infinite Stratos system, a weapon that had altogether rendered most nuclear weapons and their platforms obsolete. You've reignited this war, Dr. Shinonono. Now we beheld at your works, ye mighty and despair."

* * *

A/N: The last quote was from the poem _Ozymandias_ by Percy Bysshe Shelley. The subtitle **The Few** refers to the Allied airmen who served in the Royal Airforce during the Battle of Brain alluding to Churchill's speech in August 20, 1940, _Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few_ ,. This is due to the fact the RAF officer was based on the Grey Wings leader John Grey of Cold Winter. There were indeed Gurkhas, who were the scourge of the Japanese in the India-Burma theater of the war, who were deployed as peacekeepers in Japan, specifically 2nd Battalion of the 5th Royal Gurkha Rifles, part the British Commonwealth Occupation Force (BCOF) was the joint Australian, British, Indian and New Zealand military forces in occupied Japan, from 21 February 1946 until the end of occupation in 1952. At its peak, the BCOF comprised about 40,000 personnel, equal to about 25% of the number of US military personnel in Japan. In 1947, the BCOF began to wind down its presence in Japan. However, BCOF bases provided staging posts for Commonwealth forces deployed to the Korean War, from 1950 onwards. The BCOF was effectively wound-up in 1951, as control of Commonwealth forces in Japan was transferred to British Commonwealth Forces Korea. Hope you enjoyed this.


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